Hostman: The Animated Series
by Fedora Kid
Summary: What if Chris McLean was a masked vigilante, defending the city of Toronto from evil at night? What if Chef Hatchet was his sidekick? And what if a handful of characters from Total Drama were his rogues' gallery, and maybe even occasional allies? Set in a timeline where Total Drama never happened. Each chapter is purely episodic, though some may be intertwined here and there.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of Total Drama. Those rights belong solely to its respective creators and distributors, namely Fresh TV, Cake Entertainment, and Teletoon.**

**And to ward off accusations of plagiarism right off the bat: Yes, many aspects of this story are heavily influenced by Batman: The Animated Series, which was also the main inspiration for this story.**

**Setting: Set in an alternate universe where Total Drama itself never happened. Chris McLean is still a multi-millionaire, world-famous reality TV personality, and Chef Hatchet his co-host. But by night, they fight to defend their home city of Toronto from evil, under the masked alter egos of Hostman and Pythonicus (aided by Pthonicus's pet cat Dander Boy).**

**Characters: Hostman wears a dark blue cowl, with a cape extending from the general mask that has black eyes and a voice-scrambling mechanism, along with a small communicator implemented in the left ear of the mask. His suit is a similar dark blue with black boots and gloves. His utility belt, which is yellow, contains numerous weapons and pieces of equipment (from a grappling gun, to a tear-gas emitter, to a tranquilizer gun) all disguised as microphones. Similarly, the logo in the center of his chestplate is the image of a black microphone in the middle of a yellow circle. Pythonicus and Dander Boy's outfits are the same as it appeared in Super Hero-Id.**

**Note: Like Batman: TAS, some episodes may just feature Chris by himself, without Chef and Dander Boy's help.**

**Rating: K+, as it will mostly contain similar humor to Total Drama. Though this series was heavily inspired, and will be influenced by, Batman: TAS, it'll more than likely never be THAT dark.**

**Format: Each chapter will be purely episodic (again, like Batman: TAS), though some episodes and characters may be intertwined here and there. Obviously, about the first 10 to 15 episodes will be "origin stories" for all of the major villains, and from there they'll simply be returning for basic capers and adventures. **

**And now, without further ado, onto the show!**

**Prologue: New Sheriffs in Town**

"And the award for Best Reality Ensemble goes to…"

McLean sat back in his chair, wine glass in one hand while his other hand tightly clenched the armrest.

"…Golden Oldies in their Undies!" The devilishly-handsome Alejandro announced on the stage.

"Haha! I knew it!" Chef declared, reclining on the couch next to Chris with his pet cat in his lap. "I loved that show, and so does everybody else!"

"Except me!" Chris roared, pounding the armrest with his clenched fist, and nearly breaking the glass with his other hand.

"Oh, get over yourself, pretty boy. As much as I hate to tell you, your best days are behind ya."

With one swift motion, Chris replaced the wine glass with the remote and shut off the TV, standing up out of his chair and dropping the remote to the floor.

"No. NO! It can't be true! I'm Chris McLean! The host with the most! The former boy band member, turned author of the best-selling autobiography, turned actor who won many accolades for 'The Flipper', turned host of some of the most popular reality shows ever…reduced to not even getting ONE Gemmy nomination, or even a MENTION, this year?! Especially with my good friend Alejandro announcing the winner? I helped launch his career in the first place with his show 'Pecs vs. Specs'!"

"I'll admit, it was shocking to see that show not get a single award, either."

"If only we had managed to get the green light for that one show…what was it going to be called? Camp TV?"

"Doesn't matter anymore! Why do you keep rambling about that show that never happened, anyway? What makes it so special from the other failed or cancelled projects?"

"There was something so promising about it…It was building up to be an awesome show! …Stupid budget cuts and location disputes."

"You can't have everything, you know."

"It's preposterous! I'm only 34! I can't be past my glory days now!"

As Chris ranted, he paced back and forth rather rapidly, glancing every now and then at his case of trophies, awards, statues, and plaques, as well as magazine covers, newspaper articles, and other printed material that all focused on him.

"Hey, we all hit rock bottom eventually, you know. Just look at me!"

"I know that, Chef! I can't deny reality…but I can delay it!"

Chef sighed and facepalmed, muttering to himself.

"There's got to be someway to continue to be famous...someway to keep my name and identity in the spotlight…"

"At least let me turn it to the news or something." Chef muttered as he picked up the remote from the floor.

As soon as he turned on the TV, he quickly moved the channel up several notches until he stopped on the local news station.

"And the situation in Syria continues to boil over. With the United States aligning with France and Israel against Syria and Iran, China and Russia have both surprisingly taken the side of the Islamic countries. Could this be the lighting of the fuse of World War III?"

"Eh. Boring." Chef muttered, moving the channel up one more, to the local TMZ station.

"TMZ! The Internet outcry over Ben Affleck's casting as Batman continues. Next: The top 5 most outrageous threats that have been issued toward the actor, director, and studio over Twitter!"

"Wait…what was that!?" Chris asked loudly, turning away from his framed portrait of himself and Jeff Probst together in New York.

"Oh, more immature brats ranting and whining about Ben Affleck being cast as the new Batman."

"Really? Where was I when this news came out?"

"It's still a fairly new development, mind you. But they're already practically protesting about it."

"Hmm…"

Chris paced back over to his display cases again, now moving down the hall to the long line of costumes he had worn over the course of his career. He soon laid his eyes on one of his particular favorites…his cheap tribute to his favorite superhero of all time, Batman.

"You know, the same outcry was heard just as loudly over Michael Keaton's casting…and over Heath Ledger's casting as the Joker…and look how well they turned out."

"Hmm…A celebrity…as a superhero…"

"Yep. I guess it can still be done." Chef muttered.

"…That's it."

"Huh?" Chef turned to face Chris. "What's it?"

"Becoming a superhero!"

"You mean…being cast as the next Batman after Affleck? …Or if he gets removed from the role by force?"

"No, you fool!" Chris spun around sharply on his heels. "Although that would bring in some major dough. No! I'm going to become a REAL-LIFE superhero!"

"…You're kidding, right?"

"Nope! Not at all! Quite the opposite, in fact!"

Chris walked back across the room, now standing between the TV and his friend on the couch. "We've got the money…we could buy or create the gadgets…I'm devilishly handsome, good with the one-liners, and fairly agile…while you…well…you were in combat, weren't you?"

The briefest mention of Chef's past caused him to freeze up, save for one eye twitching ominously. Even his cat Dander Boy detected his master's newly-found unpleasantness, and leapt off his lap.

"I wasn't just in combat. I was in the war to end all wars."

"World War I?"

"No, you idiot! Nam! Vietnam! That was a war unlike any before! Days upon weeks upon months of marching through the jungle, weeds tangling your feet, slushing through the swamps, wondering if the ever-skilled and ever-agile enemy would drop down on you from the trees like monkeys, knowing that they had mastered the very environment upon which you were trespassing…it hardened me and made me tougher than ever before."

After a long, awkward pause, Chris resumed. "Um…OK. So, yeah. You've got the combat skills, the fearlessness, and the tall, imposing, intimidating stance to be an awesome sidekick! Maybe even Dander Boy can help out. He's always so vicious whenever he defends you or sees you with anyone else. That's why you've got to keep him locked up when we have company, right?"

"Sure. But that would take some serious consideration on my part before I'd let my little coochy-coochy-kitty-kitty get in harm's way." As Chef said this, he coaxed Dander Boy back into his lap and pet it soothingly.

"So? What do you say?"

Chef slowly looked from his cat back up to Chris.

Then he shrugged casually. "Eh. Whatever. But you do know that you can't go around revealing your secret identity, right?"

"What? Why? I want to be famous for it!"

"Yeah, look how well that went for Tony Stark. Besides, if you're well known as your alter ego, at least you're still well-known, right? You may not get the name recognition, but people will still be talking about you."

"Eh…I suppose. OK. So we'll be incognito about it. Now all we need are the costumes! Come on! We haven't spent some money in a while, so let's get to it!"

_A few weeks later…_

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEE EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

"Freeze! Let the woman go!" The officer shouted through the megaphone.

"No! It's a lie! It's a trap! It's all a lie! It's all a trap! I'm innocent, I tell you! INNOCENT!" The mountainous man shouted, his hook placed firmly over the woman's neck and the whirring chainsaw in his remaining hand, held high above his head.

"You don't want to hurt the woman, psycho! Put the chainsaw down and let's all calm down here…"

"Please…" The blonde woman sniffled.

"NO! I've been framed! I'm innocent, I tells ya!"

"Alright, fall back!" The officer in charge called out. "Give him some space."

"Should we call in the SWAT team, sir?" One of his subordinates asked nervously.

"No. It could anger him even further, and we'd lose our chances of getting that hostage back in one piece."

"Alright, we're backing into this here alley slowly!" The massive killer declared, gesturing at said dark alley with his massive weapon. "No funny business, you hear?!"

And with the small, terrified woman held by his hook, he slowly backed off the street and into the alley, with rats scurrying away around his feet, and the stench of dumpsters, trash cans, and week-old laundry filling the small space.

"OK, so we'll just continue backward through here…"

Just then, a sudden WHIP-CRACK! could be heard in the air behind him. Before he could even turn around, a powerful force knocked the whirring chainsaw out of his hand. It flew forward over his head and landed on the ground just outside the alley, sparks flying as its blade collided with the pavement. The blade was instantly destroyed, its long, sharp chain whipping off in an instant while the stub of the blade continued whirring with the buzz of the engine.

"Huh?! Who dares mess with me?!"

He spun around to see, just in time to see an equally-mountainous man, only with darker skin, on one of the fire escape ledges several stories above him, wearing a light-green spandex outfit with a snake-like mask covering his face. In his hands he held a long, green rubber snake with small, piercing yellow eyes and sharp white teeth at the head. He had just retracted it back into his other hand, and cracked it threateningly toward the psycho killer, cracking it like a whip and with the same sound effect as heard before.

"Who, you ask?" Another voice called out as a much smaller man in a black and dark blue outfit, with a cape trailing behind him attached to the mask that covered his face. He leapt off the roof of one of the adjacent buildings, did a flip in mid-air, then grabbed one of the laundry lines and swung around on it, landing up and perching on it perfectly on the soles of his feet.

"None other than Hostman and his sidekick Pythonicus, that's who!"

"Oh, great. So I'm _not_ the freakiest person around here for once!" The killer declared with obvious exaggeration in his voice. "But I'll still take you both down!"

In one quick movement, he switched the woman around so that his good hand was around her neck, while he now held his hook up in the air menacingly.

In an even faster motion, the one called "Hostman" reached into his belt, which contained over half a dozen microphones, and withdrew one. He took careful hold of the handle, aiming the top of it down at the killer, then pressed a button on the side. The head of the microphone instantly shot out from the handle on a long cable, and instantly burst open into a metal, three-pronged claw.

The grappling hook shot forward and made a direct hit on the killer's hook, detaching the appendage from his stump of an arm and sending it flying out into the street as well.

"What?! NO!" The killer screamed.

"Yes!" Hostman declared happily. "Let's go get 'im, Python!"

And with that, both men leapt off their respective perches, legs extended for flying kicks aimed directly at the killer's head. Due to his massive height, their target was far away enough from the victim.

And for once, it was the killer who was doing the screaming instead of the hostage.

…

"Did you hear that, chief?" One of the officers called.

"I heard it, alright! That wasn't the woman screaming!"

"Come on! His chainsaw and hook are already out here in the open, out of his reach! Let's just move in now and see if it's our best chance to take him down!"

"Alright, lock and load! We're going into the alley!"

The chief, the subordinate, and four other officers charged into the dark alleyway, running past the two discarded weapons and with their own guns at the ready.

One of them shined his bright flashlight wildly around the alley, frantically looking for clues as to what happened.

Just then, a figure dashed out of the darkness at them.

"OH, thank you! Thank you all! Thank God you're here at last!" The woman cried happily as she flew into the nearest officer's arms.

"We've got the hostage here, chief!" He reported. "She's safe."

"Good! Get her out of here now!

"Let's go."

As the one officer led the woman out of the alley, the other five continued forward.

"He's gotta be nearby."

"CHIEF!"

At the young officer's call, the other four came running over and looked inside the dumpster he was shining his light into.

There, surrounded by trash and other unpleasant things, was the massive killer; numerous bruises and swollen spots on his face, several more teeth missing, a dazed look in his eyes, and his hands and legs bound by ropes.

"What in tarnation?" The chief exclaimed.

"Please…get me out of here…" The killer muttered. "Away from…"

He then looked straight up into the sky, past the officers, at the two dark figures on the rooftop above him.

"…FROM THEM!"

"From who?" The chief asked as he turned around and looked up in the same direction the killer had been looking.

There was nothing except the moon up above them, lighting up the night and all its emptiness.

…Except for the two masked figures slowly walking off across one of the rooftops, having successfully completed their first mission, and on their way into fame and obscurity at the same time.

**Author's Note: Yep! I'm back, everybody!**

**Ah, I knew I just couldn't stay away from it. I just couldn't stay away from you guys forever.**

**In all honesty, though, this is one of those ideas that just spontaneously popped into my head out of nowhere...while I was re-watching episodes of Batman: The Animated Series, that is. But this is one of those ideas that just wouldn't go away.**

**And in all honesty, this is the perfect formula for a story for me to start and continue in college. It's not one long, overarching story like my "Second Season" trilogy. Each episode is its own oneshot story, so that way, I don't have any deadline of my own to meet. That way, it's not so pressing that I **_**must**_** focus on it, but can merely write each chapter for fun during my downtime (which especially works now that I'm in college). I don't have any pressing story that needs to be finished anytime soon…and above all else, the inevitable rise in activity in the TD fandom with the premiere of Season 5 will allow this story to get more attention than the last one did. Thus, as you can imagine, the chapters will not be regularly updated. They'll be once in a random while.**

**But at the same time, I feel this is a chance for me to expand on my writing skills and style. It's no longer a basic competition story like my **_**magnum opus **_**series. This is now a test for me to see A) How well I can parody Batman: TAS and other super hero stories in a clever/non-ripoff manner. B) How well I can still incorporate Total Drama-style humor into it. And C) How well I can establish and set apart these characters from Total Drama, since Total Drama never happened in this alternate setting.**

**But I hope it's still something that you will all enjoy. It's definitely different, it'll definitely be fun, and I'll definitely look forward to it.**

**Until next time!**

**-Fedora Kid**


	2. Outcast

Outcast

The group of goons dashed through the alleyway, pressing up to the walls and peeking around corners before making their next dash.

"This way, this way!" The green-mohawked leader at the front whispered.

"Homeschool! Keep up!"

"Soory, eh! Uh, I mean, soory dog!"

"And shut up!"

"Word!"

They dashed around the last corner, and came upon the massive factory. The three stacks had stopped spewing smoke earlier that day, when a majority of the crew had called it a day. Only a few lights remained on in the higher windows, where an occasional dark figure could be seen moving back and forth every now and then.

"Remind me again why we're robbing this place, eh-er…homie?"

"With the recent disasters, from the BP Spill to the nuclear meltdown in Japan, special resources and their distributors are taking huge hits right now. This chemical factory has been in business for over 30 years, but is on the verge of folding. We're just gonna help them clean the place out, and take whatever money the dropped stocks left behind."

The wood of the docks creaked beneath their feet as they continued along, the soft sound of the waves swelling around the support beams beneath them, and the occasional seagull above them.

They ran up to the fence and pressed up against it, the leader glancing up at the lit windows.

"OK. You know what to do."

"Sure thing, Duncan."

"Don't use my name!" The punk hissed.

The pale-skinned figure in the hoodie slowly sneaked up to the guard shack, carefully peering in through the window at the lanky guard reading a tabloid, with two masked men on the cover.

Carefully removing his golden Z/cowbell necklace and wrapping the chain firmly around one hand, he slowly crept over to the door and tried to open it as quietly and smoothly as possible.

Once it was open just enough, he slipped inside and stood up straight and tall behind the guard, reclining in the chair. He raised the bell and Z up high, then swung it down firmly against the back of the guard's head. The guard went down without so much as an "Oof!" The magazine fluttered down to the floor, along with his limp body.

"OK!" The teen called out to his associates.

The mohawked punk and his three henchmen quickly slipped up to the guard shack, two of them dragging the guard underneath a desk while the third searched his pockets and belt until he found the keys.

"Got 'im!" The third henchman called out.

"Good. Open the gate."

The goon pranced up to the gate with the stolen keychain, quickly fumbling through the various keys until one finally unlocked it.

"Let's go!" He hissed as the gate swung open on its hinges.

The five crooks sneaked into the grounds, quickly dashing over the open front area to the main factory building.

"Keys!" The leader called.

The goon with the keychain from earlier returned, flipping through frantically for a new key to unlock the loading bay door.

When he found the right one, all five of them lifted up the massive metal door, pushing it high up enough to allow it to roll back into place on its own like an automatic garage door. They all stealthily sneaked in, breaking off into two groups: The hoodie-wearing homeschooled teen, the mohawked leader, and the goon with the keys in one group, and the other two in the other group.

The one with the mohawk turned to the pale-skinned one with the golden necklace and sunglasses, even though it was as pitch-dark inside as it was outside.

"Alright, homeschool. This is your time to shine. You'll be our lookout, OK? Get up to those catwalks up there…"

The punk gestured up to the metal catwalks high above them, at least 50 to 60 feet in the air.

"…and keep an eye out for any guards or anything else. If you need to alert us, just use the whistle we practiced earlier."

"You mean like this, eh?"

He then pursed is lips and prepared to do it, only for the punk to slap a hand over his lips. "No! Not now! Only if you need to! Got it?"

"Mhm!" He murmured from under the hand.

"Good."

As soon as the hand was gone, the pale teen nervously asked: "So if this goes well, will I finally become part of your crew, eh?"

"Yeah sure, whatever." The punk responded in a clearly annoyed tone.

"Come on, let's go!" The one with the keys hissed.

"And will you finally refer to me as something cool instead of homeschool, like, say, The Zeke? Or how about Zed-Rod?"

"Yeah, whatever, sure, fine! We'll work out what to call you when – and if – the heist goes well. Just get up there and do as you're told! Got it?"

"Sir, yes sir!"

And with that, the bling-slinging teen vanished into the shadows towards the nearest metal staircase.

"Ugh." The one with the keys muttered as he shook his head. "Why did we have to bring him along? I can only handle so much of 'eh, eh, eh' and 'dog, homie, yo,' man!" He complained as the two of them turned and ran off towards one of the offices.

"Easy help for hire." The leader replied. "He's a sap who'll be willing to do anything for us. Even if this does go well, he'll be assigned to mundane stuff like this every single time he is part of a job. Plus, he'll make a great decoy for the police in case we ever fail. They snatch him while we get away."

"Aha! Clever, dude. Very clever."

"I know."

…

The awkward teen was panting and gasping as he finally reached the top of the stairs, now faced with the array of suspended catwalks before him.

"Oh, boy, eh."

He slowly edged out onto the first one, tightly gripping both rails for support.

"Oh…how did I ever get here, eh?"

He didn't even notice as two dark shapes fluttered by quickly outside the nearest skylight.

…

The two goons were busy ripping out file drawers, sloppily riffling through folders, binders, and papers, searching for anything of value in addition to the stacks of money they had already found.

Soon, the punk leader and his key-wielding sidekick had returned.

"Luck?"

"About a dozen stacks, but the rest is just paperwork and other boring crap." One reported.

"Yeah." The other agreed. "All that's left is that safe over there, and none of our stuff can penetrate it."

The second goon gestured to said safe with this statement, lurking in the corner with its bulking frame and the promise of the valuables that were surely inside.

"I'll handle this." The leader said, cracking his knuckles and walking over to it.

He slowly knelt down next to the safe, carefully placing his right ear up against the door firmly, then lightly grabbing the dial and slowly turning it.

Meanwhile, the goon with the keys leaned out of the doorway to glance both ways, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious.

He thought he saw a flutter of movement suddenly move around the corner nearby.

"Huh? Homeschool?"

The key-wielding henchman slowly slipped out the door and approached the spot where he had seen the movement.

Then his vision was enveloped in blackness as a powerful force grabbed him and swiftly knocked him out.

One of the ransacking goons noticed the sudden departure of the key-wielding one, and asked aloud: "Hey, where'd Carv go?"

The other one looked the same direction, where the door was half-open.

"Carv!" He hissed.

No answer.

Then they heard the premeditated whistling, coming from outside the office and high above them, followed shortly after by…

…

"…No! NO! Stay back, eh!"

The pale teen slowly backed up down the catwalk as the caped figure approached ominously.

"I swear, I'm innocent, eh!"

"And what are you doing trespassing in this chemical factory? You just here for some petty cash, or are you seeking to steal the dangerous chemicals to make a weapon of mass destructiveness?" The caped figure asked in a deep, distorted voice that sounded like it was coming from the back of his throat.

"No, eh! I mean, I don't know! I'm just the lookout, dog!"

Then, before he knew it, he was backed up against the end of the catwalk. There was no way out except somehow getting past the masked figure or…

…he turned briefly to look behind him, and saw that the only thing below the catwalk was one of the massive vats of chemicals.

"You scum are all the same." The masked man declared firmly. "My sidekick is busy taking care of your friends down in the office. But I feel like handling you myself…personally. Something about you, just the way you look, and talk…just makes me despise you."

"No, eh! Please! Don't make me, yo!"

He then quickly removed the necklace, wrapping the chain around one hand, and began twirling it menacingly in the air above his head.

"Alright, freakshow! Think fast!"

And then, the caped figure delivered a single swift kick to the intruder's stomach, sending him tumbling backwards over the railing in an instant.

"NOOOOOOOOO!

Hostman ran up to the railing and watched as the teen plummeted straight down, falling over four stories until suddenly landing with a sickening dense SPLUSH in the variety of pale greenish-yellow chemicals in the vat below, sending a good amount spilling up over the edge and onto the floor below.

"Whoops. Sucks to be that guy." Hostman muttered.

"AUGH!" Another scream sounded down below.

"Uh-oh! Hang on, Pythonicus!"

And with that, Hostman quickly whipped out his grappling microphone and fired it down towards a lower overhanging pipe. The claws extended and clamped around the pipe. Leaping up and over the railing, Hostman swung down low over several vats before detaching the hook and dropping to the floor, just several yards from the office.

Just then, another one of the henchmen flew out the large office window, smashing it to pieces and crashing to the floor in an unconscious heap.

"Pythonicus!"

Hostman ran to the office door and looked inside…

…just in time to see Pythonicus crack his snake whip at the third goon. The small teeth of the snake head briefly pricked the goon's shoulder, in just a brief enough moment for the tranquilizers that the teeth were tipped with to take effect.

The cringing goon clenched his shoulder tightly, already feeling the toxins take effect as his vision grew blurry.

"Ugh…Oof."

He collapsed to the floor, rather calmly as if he was merely falling asleep.

"Nice work, Python!"

"Sure. But I lost the other one! The one with the mohawk and the piercings. I think he was their leader, too! I caught him just as he was trying to crack the safe, and he stole off with a bag full of stacks of money!"

Hostman quickly leaned out the door and glanced both ways. There was no sign of any other person in the factory, save for the two other unconscious goons lying outside the door.

Just then, sirens could be heard drawing closer outside.

"Oh, well. At least we got most of them, right?" Hostman replied as the two quickly fled the office, racing towards the nearest stairwell. "We can leave three of them for the police. 3/5 is a majority, right? Like, if I were to get 3 out of 5 on a test, that'd be…what, 80%?"

"More like 60%." Python replied flatly.

"Oh, well. That's still most of them!"

"Were there any others?"

"Just some typical wannabe, complete with a hoodie, fake bling, unnecessary shades, and a sorry attempt at using slang. I kinda accidentally knocked him into a vat of chemicals. So there probably won't be anything left for the police to find, even if they did think to look in there."

"Smooth. You could'a just left him for the cops…or for me."

"Remind me again why we can't just off these guys and be done with it?"

"It was your idea, smart one! You said, and I roughly quote: 'If we just kill these guys, then soon there'll be no one left to fight, and then we'll have no reason to keep doing this, and then the headlines won't be talking about us no more!' So by keeping them alive, as redundant as it is, we can at least come back to keep ourselves in the news again and again."

"Oh, yeah. Nice logic on my part, if I do say so myself."

"So…what about the one that became acquainted with chemicals?"

"An accident. I'll try not to do it again…as satisfying as it was."

They quickly reached the top floor and slipped through the door that led back out to the roof, just as the first wave of officers burst inside, calling out commands and reports to each other as they found the first few unconscious crooks.

_Several months later_…

"They're the men who have captivated the city and the nation…and we don't even know who they are! Two masked men who have been taking on crime in this city by storm, striking fear into the hearts of Toronto's greatest criminals. From the Escaped Psycho Killer with a Chainsaw and a Hook, to the mob boss Francisco 'Big Daddy' Martinez, to the lowest of muggers and bank robbers. The masked duo known only as Hostman and Pythonicus have been making more headlines than the brewing World War III. Already, crime is beginning to decrease in this city. But will the mere threat of these men be enough, or will some criminals take a little more convincing than others?"

"But the criminals aren't the only ones who are, rather, 'not pleased' with these men, Josh." His blonde cohost added.

"Right you are, Blaineley!" Josh replied. "Toronto's DA, Courtney Clinton, fresh off her landslide reelection, had this to say:"

Then the image of the young, charismatic District Attorney of Toronto appeared on the screen, speaking in her usual high-pitched voice. "I don't care how effective these two spandex-wearing freakshows are. They're still operating outside the law, and making our real law enforcement officials look bad. We certainly won't be working alongside them anytime soon, and we may even consider pressing charges if we can get a solid lead on their identities, their location, or both!"

"Ouch! Harsh words, aren't they? Our full-length, long-form interview with DA Clinton will be featured tonight on my special airing tonight: The Men and the Methods Behind the Masks! I'm Josh Wallace, reporting live from Toronto, Ontario!"

Chef turned off the TV and turned to his partner, who was sporting an equally smug grin.

"Ah. Every paper, magazine, TV ticker, Tweet, Facebook post, online banner, every headline imaginable is talking about us! Isn't it glorious, Chef my man?"

"It sure is. For once, I can finally see why the multi-media coverage is so desirable. People are finally talking about us, but this time, for a surprisingly good reason!"

"Indeed. And the best part: They have no idea who we are! The mystery of our true identities is also more entertaining than if they knew from the start! Good call on that one, Chef. Good. Call."

Just then, Chris's cell phone started beeping.

He lifted it out of his pocket and glanced at the flashing screen, with a small reminder typed on it.

"Oh, nuts! I almost forgot about the fundraiser event tonight! It's in an hour at Josh's mansion!"

"Ugh. Do I have to?"

"Well, it would be appreciated…"

"But we don't even contribute to these fundraisers. We just show up for the photo-ops and then leave."

"But the publicity! The headlines! …Not as much as what we're getting right now, but the more the merrier!

"I still don't like going. I hate dressing up in those monkey suits. I'll take the spandex over the tux any day."

"Fine. You don't have to. I'll go by myself and waltz around in my favorite tux, martini in my hand, rubbing elbows with all the most famous TV personalities in Canada, while you stay home with the cat."

After a pause, with Chris giving a sly grin to Chef, Chef merely shrugged.

"Eh, I'm fine with it."

Chris's grin was quickly replaced by a glare. "Fine. I'll go."

_30 minutes later…_

Chris McLean was laughing alongside several pretty women in dresses, martini in his hand and his finest tux ironed out just for tonight.

"Oh, yeah. That was a killer! I can't believe I hit such a streak of perfect jokes that time! It did, after all, win my the Gemmy for Best Comedy Act that year!"

"Ah, Chris McLean." A familiar voice called out.

Chris turned around and saw his friend Josh approaching, several women around him as well, including his cohost, Blaineley.

"Howdy, Josh. How many exes you got with you tonight?"

The ladies around them giggled mischievously, while Josh chuckled it off.

"Counting or not counting Blaineley here?"

"Oh, can it, Josh." Blaineley growled, her smile disappearing rather quickly as she clearly couldn't handle the joke as well as Josh could.

"I'm just glad you could all be here. These fundraisers, beyond doing good work for the needy in Canada and abroad, are just a great chance to get together and congratulate ourselves on our most recent successes, right? How about those last Gemmy Awards?"

"Oh, yes." Chris commented, somewhat blankly. "Congrats on Best Reality Show Host, by the way."

"Thank you, Chris. But it still doesn't hold a candle to your four consecutive wins of that award just prior to me. I felt like Jay Leno trying to fill in for Johnny Carson."

"Oh, you're too kind. Though I think Johnny Carson and I would've gotten along fairly well, don't you?"

"I guess we'll never know."

"Excuse me, gentlemen. And ladies, of course."

Then the familiar Hispanic walked over to the group, sporting his trademark outfit from the boots to the red shirt and small necklace.

"Ah! Alejandro! Good to see you again." Chris said as he patted him on the shoulder.

"Likewise. And I could never thank you enough, Chris. Do you know what an honor it was to become the youngest individual ever to announce the winner of a Gemmy Award? Thanks to your connections, that title now goes to me. I can't thank you enough, Chris."

"Nonsense, Al! Of course you could."

_You could've started by mentioning me at the Gemmies._ Chris thought bitterly to himself.

"Although I must admit, I don't think any of the Gemmy winners, or nominees, or hosts, or anyone involved with the Gemmy Awards for that matter, will be well-remembered this year." Josh interjected.

"What do you mean?" Chris responded.

"Haven't you seen all the headlines from here to Vancouver? It's all about those two masked guys."

"Ugh. 'Hostman'? Are you kidding?" Chris replied. "Ridiculous."

"Regardless of their lack of originality, and the fact that they're wearing spandex 20 years after it was cool, they're obviously getting the job done. That Psycho Killer was one of the top 10 most wanted outlaws in all of Canada." Josh commented.

"And 'Big Daddy'? They took down Canada's #1 mafia boss? They _must_ be doing something right." Alejandro added.

"I don't know. They're probably just a couple of guys who are just looking for fame." Chris retorted with obvious contempt in his voice.

"Could be…But if that's the case, maybe we should see more superheroes emerging all across the country." Alejandro returned.

"Maybe."

"Gee, Chris. Sounds to me like Ms. Clinton isn't the only critic these guys have." Blaineley quipped.

"Hm?"

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're jealous of this Hostman and his sidekick."

"Meh. I just think they're not that original, creative, or interesting. That's all."

Just then, Chris's phone started ringing.

"Oh, hold on."

He looked down at the caller ID, and saw who it was.

"Ah, my old partner from shows past!" He announced loudly to his friends.

"Hatchet? Hey, why didn't he come?" Josh asked.

"Uh…His only tux didn't come back from the drycleaners."

He then answered the call.

"Yo, Chef. What's up?"

"Chris. We've got a situation."

Chris swallowed nervously.

"Um, do excuse me for just a moment, everyone."

After a murmured flurry of "OK" from several of the guests, Chris turned and walked off, trying to look as nonchalant as possible.

"A new show offer-type situation, or an uh-oh time-to-spring-into-action situation?" He whispered.

"Sirens are going off like crazy outside. The whole trio of emergency vehicles – police, firefighters, ambulances – are all racing by."

"What does the police radio say?"

"Something about a suspect of unknown gender, able to leap up great distances, climb up walls with incredible speed, and growling and hissing like some kind of animal."

"Alright. I'll be back in 10 minutes. Where are they heading?"

"The docks."

"Then let's take the chopper…er, I mean, the Host-Copter!"

"Really? Do you _have_ to attach the word 'Host' to everything we use, from the weapons to the vehicles? What's next? The 'Host-Toilet'?"

"Don't get cute with me, man. We've got a job to do! We'll focus on object-naming like a psychopathic redhead when we get back from handling this job."

_20 minutes later…_

The small red helicopter flew over the skyline of downtown Toronto, following the line of flashing lights and sirens in the streets below.

As they hovered along, the police radio's station crackled to life once again.

"All units, all units, be advised: We have a triple-hostage situation here. Suspect kidnapped three prisoners and is believed to be willing to dispose of them. Proceed with extreme caution.

"10-4."

"Man, where'd you ever get this special connection to the police radio channel, anyway?" Pythonicus asked casually.

"When you're famous, you have friends in high places."

"And your friends in high places didn't find it odd that you wanted to know how to access the police force's channel?"

"Not the way I asked for it: What's the most interesting, dramatic, and off-the-radar radio channel in all of Toronto? Flash a little white…" One of his teeth sparkled to emphasize this point. "…and a lot of green…" He rubbed two fingers together in the universal gesture for money. "…and I was golden."

"Smooth."

"All units, suspect has arrived at abandoned dock warehouse. Surround and secure the perimeter."

"Showtime." Pythonicus muttered.

"Alright, so you'll stay here with the chopper, right?"

"Huh? But I want to be part of the action!"

"So do I, but we can't leave the chopper unattended now, can we?"

"It has an autopilot!"

"But can the autopilot prevent it from being easily taken by the police? Or by whoever this villain is?"

"It could, with some adjustments…"

"But it can't now, so you stay!"

Pythonicus muttered under his breath as he pulled the lever that dropped the rope ladder out from underneath the right landing strut.

"OK, keep her steady over the warehouse now…"

Hostman opened the door, carefully stepping out onto the strut and peering down at the scene below: The warehouse, surrounded on all sides by the emergency vehicles and with officers dashing around like ants as they set up roadblocks and blockades.

"Alright. I'm going in!"

And with that, Hostman leapt out of the cockpit and grabbed onto the ropes of the ladder, sliding down to the lowest rung, where he paused for a moment to halt his fall. Then, after another moment, he let go of the bottom rung and dropped down to the roof of the warehouse.

Careful to avoid the waving spotlights of the police below, he carefully crawled across the roof down to the nearest window. Hanging upside-down, he peered inside.

What he saw was, indeed, rather shocking.

The three kidnapped individuals were none other than the goons from the chemical plant heist several months back, including the one who had handled the keys, known as "Carv."

All three were tied together in a circle by rope, bandanas wrapped around their mouths. And before them stood a figure, its back to the window that Hostman was looking through. It stood fairly tall, shrouded by shadows due to standing at the edge of the range of light cast by the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling above them. Its hands were on its hips in that satisfied manner, and Hostman could barely make out a hood hanging behind it. Its head was clearly bald, with only a few stray strands of long, scraggly hair hanging down.

He couldn't hear what was being said, as he could barely see the figure's chin moving up and down repeatedly, but he intended to find out.

…

"So, you all thought you could leave me behind, did you?" The figure spoke in a gruff, almost suppressed voice. "Ain't that always the way. People like you make me sick…always leaving me in the dust…always abandoning me…always making me the outcast."

"Mmf! Mmphmmhmmm!"

"I could care less about what you all have to say, though. You'll all soon suffer the way I did."

"Hold it right there, fiend!"

The figure spun around on its heels, revealing its full ugliness to Hostman. On each foot, there were only three toes now instead of five, and all of them were prolonged and clawed. There were several noticeable tears, stains, and holes in his dark blue jeans and pale, vomit-green hoodie. His skin, from his head, to his hands, to his feet, was pale green like his hoodie, wrinkled, and withered. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, with bags hanging obviously under them. His teeth were longer and sharper, stained with things that Hostman didn't dare think about.

Even the valiant Hostman was noticeably disturbed by this sight and cringed in disgust while recoiling in fear at the same time.

"Yeesh! What the heck ARE you?!"

"Ah…Hostman. I was wondering when you'd show up."

"You…You mean…you wanted me to come here?"

"Better believe it. I got as many cops on my tail as I could and lured them all over Toronto to draw you out. How fitting that your sidekick isn't with you on this one. It's just you and me, once again. Mano-eh-mano."

"Who…Who are you?"

"Don't you remember me? Several months ago, you and your sidekick thwarted me and my friends here at the chemical plant." The figure gestured to the three tied-up goons.

"The chemical plant…YOU!" He exclaimed as his eyes widened with realization. "You were the wannabe? The one I kicked off the edge into the vat of chemicals?!"

"Exactly, detective."

"What…what happened to you?!"

"The chemicals, of course. Bleached my skin a sickening green, mutated my fingers and toes, caused all my hair to drop out. Believe it or not, I looked just slightly worse in the immediate aftermath. But upon crawling out of the vat as the police arrived, I knew I could not seek help from them, for never would they want to, and never would I want them to. So I went into hiding, and found this abandoned old warehouse. I've been living here, in the dust and the dark and the cobwebs, with only the rats and the insects for food."

"Yuck. Not exactly your five-star restaurant."

"Quite the contrary. Such a long-term exposure to a harsh environment and brutal surroundings helped me to evolve and fit more into the form I had taken on after my mutation. I am now…"

And then, before Hostman could react, the figure leapt up over his head and landed on top of a tower of crates, perched on all fours like an animal.

"…much more agile."

It then leapt off the tower, spun around and did a flip simultaneously, then landed on the side of another tower, narrowly clinging to it with one claw and hanging off the side like King Kong.

"…much more maneuverable."

It then leapt off the tower and landed on the floor right in front of Hostman, first on all fours, then slowly, smoothly, and ominously rising to his full height.

"…and a much more worthy adversary than before. Gone are the days of whirling fake jewelry above my head in an attempt to look threatening. Born are the days of being the most-feared creature in all of Toronto. Born is…"

Hostman's jaw dropped as the figure slowly lifted its head and stared right into his eyes, the black eyes of the mask and the bloodshot eyes of the creature locking for a few silent moments.

"…The Feral Freakshow."

Hostman gasped, as did Pythonicus, listening through the communicator in his ear.

"And now…it's time for my revenge."

"In your dreams! I'll beat you even more easily than before!"

"On the contrary…"

The figure then moved over casually to the three tied-up figures and reached down into the space between the three of them in the middle. It stood up and revealed the bucket that had been concealed.

"Shortly before that chemical plant went under, I went back to retrieve a sample of the very chemicals, from the very same vat, that forever transformed me. Had you not shown up, I was just going to use it on these three poor fellows."

A series of muffled cries of fear emerged from the men.

"But now that you're here, I'll just use it on you instead!"

Hostman ducked and lunged at the Freakshow, who easily sidestepped the tackle and instead sent Hostman crashing into the three hostages, knocking them all over with more muffled grunts.

"Hahahaha! THAT was satisfying!" The Freakshow laughed. "Perhaps now I can get all four of you with one splash!"

He reared the bucket back to throw it forward, only for Hostman to spin around and fire his grappling hook. The claw hit the pail and knocked it straight backwards, out of Freakshow's hands.

"NO!"

Freakshow spun around and leapt after the bucket, catching it in midair, while it was still upright, just before it could hit the floor.

In this brief window, the rope slipped off the three hostages, who were now lying sideways on the floor. Both quickly managed to get out of it and onto their feet, removing the bandanas around their mouths.

"Come on, let's get outta here!" One shouted.

"Right behind ya, Carv!"

The three goons quickly dashed off into the darkness while Hostman slowly climbed back to his feet.

He turned back to face Freakshow…

…only to see nothing in sight.

The single light bulb slowly swung back and forth with slight creaking sounds, briefly throwing the range of light back and forth over the small open area.

"EYAUGHHGH!"

The fierce sound, a mix between a shriek and a gargle, came from behind him. Hostman only had time to spin around, take in the sight for a second, and calculate his next move.

In a swift second, he ducked and swung a single fist straight up, knocking the bucket straight up into the air out of Freakshow's hands once again.

Only this time, the chemicals within shot straight up out of the bucket, even higher than the bucket itself, and showered up onto the single light bulb.

In an instant, the bulb fizzled, sparked, and then shattered in a final shower of sparks. The effect of the chemicals traveled up the wire and similarly short-circuited every single light in the warehouse, creating a cacophony of sparks, shatters, and bursting bulbs that plunged the warehouse into darkness.

"NO!" Freakshow roared just before a majority of the chemicals fell back down and showered himself with a fizzing sound while Hostman barely managed to dive out of the way. Only a few drops of chemicals stained his cape, eating away at the fabric and creating quarter-sized holes.

In an instant, Hostman ran over to the nearest tower of boxes and began pushing against the bottom one.

While Freakshow was still rubbing the chemicals out of his eyes, he heard the ominous creaking of large, heavy wooden containers. Shaking his head side-to-side wildly to shake off the liquids faster, it glanced up with blurry eyes in the direction of the sound…

…and was instantly crushed by the wooden crates, pinning him to the floor with a final "Oof!", followed by a groan of pain and defeat.

"You know what they say: What goes up must come down!"

But just then, the sound of a door being blown open across the warehouse could be heard.

"POLICE! We've got your hostages, and the building is surrounded! Come out with your hands up! This is your only warning!"

With one final glance down at the single arm protruding from underneath the crate, Hostman turned and fired his grappling hook once again, this time at the open window he had come in through.

…

As the red helicopter took off, Hostman took a closer look at the holes in his cape.

"Heh, heh…_holey_ guacamole, Hostman! What happened to your cape?"

"That freak took some of the chemicals from the plant where he was wasted the first time and was gonna use it on me. ME! He was gonna turn my beautiful face into…that! The thought!"

"I know, right? I can't imagine what he must've looked like…"

"It was bad, Python. REALLY bad."

Just then, the radio crackled to life once again.

"Building secure. We've discovered a discarded rope, a puddle of suspicious green liquid, and a bucket that it was presumably contained in, all underneath a broken light dripping some of the liquids off of it. There was a toppled-over pile of crates nearby. But no sign of the suspect."

"Huh?!" Hostman exclaimed. "But…I knocked over the pile of crates to pin him down! He was supposed to be right there for them to capture! He couldn't have got away!"

"He got away once before." Python commented.

"I guess…but the good news is, he's got nowhere to go."

"What do you mean?"

"He had retreated to this same warehouse after our first encounter. He refuses to seek help from the outside world. Even if he finds another warehouse or abandoned building or something, he'll remain as far away from the human world as possible. It's what he was saying to the hostages before I intervened: He's always been an outcast, especially since his transformation. There's a real question for you, Python: To whom does an outcast turn to? Where does an outcast go for refuge? And worst of all: What does an outcast have to lose?"

The red helicopter flew off into the night, the silence being the only response to Hostman's question.

**Author's Note: And there you have the origin story of the one "villain" you all probably expected the most out of me – Ezekiel.**

**And yes, as the addition of two new main characters to the story's description indicates, Ezekiel will be one of this show's two main villains; the other being everyone's favorite loveable redhead psycho/sociopath. But shhhh! Hostman and Pythonicus don't know that it's her yet! ;)**

**And one last thing I forgot to mention last time: This particular story, since it's being uploaded more as a genuine hobby/fun activity for me to do when I'm bored, rather than a serious story I need to keep on top of like my "Second Season" trilogy, is an exclusive special story JUST for you guys here on ! Yep! The Total Drama FanFiction Wiki won't be seeing this one at all, so enjoy that special plus while you can! ;)**

**Next chapter: A villain who went too far in her obsessive endeavors, and was subsequently changed forever – both physically and mentally – by her determination. Try to guess in the reviews who YOU think it will be!**


	3. Demons of the Past

Demons of the Past

_The speedboat bounced off another wave, tearing across the lake with incredible speed._

_As the occupants all bounced in their seats once again, one special passenger couldn't help but finally speak her mind._

"_Argh! How much longer must I endure this roller-coaster? How much farther ahead is it?!"_

"_Not that far, Ms. Milton." The boat's driver reassured her. "In fact, there it is now, in the distance!"_

_The blonde teenager stretched up in her seat, peering out over the water at the island approaching slowly. It was a plain old island, save for the one noticeable feature of the half-dome-like cliff rising high above the rest of it._

"_Good. Once we're there, we can finally be back on solid ground as we scope the place out."_

"_But remind me again why we have to do that?" The other bodyguard in the boat with her asked nervously. "There's gonna be no one there, right? Why do you need to show up to the filming location ahead of time?"_

"_To make an impression! I want to show my enthusiasm to McLean, and prove that I'll do anything to get on his new show! This is the one, sure-fire, guaranteed way to meet him in person and prove once and for all what an incredible source of drama and ratings I'll be! Anything to get. On. That. SHOW!"_

"_But then why not just use your father's rich connections to get you on instead?"_

_Dakota turned away from the island, instead glancing out over the wake spreading out in the water behind them, the shining reflection of the moon rippling on the surface._

"_I want to become my own person. I don't want to be forever seen as Martin Milton's daughter! I want to be known as Dakota Milton! My own person! I want to prove that I can get places without daddy's help!"_

_She then looked back toward the island as it drew even closer. The first signs of some buildings, including two cabins, could now be visible from where they were in the boat._

"_I want to become the biggest thing on TV! The biggest thing EVER!"_

_1 year later…_

"…and thus the notorious juvenile outlaw Duncan MacIllwaine was thrown back in the Toronto Juvenile Correctional Facility once again." Josh finished.

In less than a month, he will turn 18, and thus be of the legal age to be transferred to the Hamill Hill Asylum, where he will subsequently spend the rest of his life incarcerated for all of the crimes he's committed. This latest capture was, once again, thanks to the Dynamite Duo of Hostman and Pythonicus, who thwarted his latest attempt at robbing a bank." Blaineley summarized.

"Sheesh! Isn't that, like, the fourth or fifth time we've had to clean up the police's mess when it comes to that punk?" Chris commented smugly, shaking his head.

"Yeah. He's a slippery one, alright." Chef agreed. "Took long enough to finally get him after that chemical plant heist."

"And don't forget to tune in for my special tonight: Dreams That Never Were. In that one-hour special, we'll take an in-depth look at the five most promising reality shows that never were."

"Eh?" Chris muttered, squeezing the armrests.

"Huh?" Chef turned to him, then realized in an instant. "Oh, no. Don't tell me…"

"If that one show is on that list, I swear…"

"…including Skatoony, Human Tetris Goes Canada, and Total Drama Island!"

"BLARGH!" Chris roared. "WHY?!"

"That's IT!" Chef snatched the remote out of Chris's reach and shut the TV off.

"Hey! What are you doing?! I was gonna watch that so that I could become even angrier!"

"No!" Chef stood up out of the couch, the cat leaping out of his lap and racing off.

"No more reminding yourself of that stupid show! I don't know what your fixation is on that show anyway. Like I said, so many other projects were cancelled that looked like they would've been hits. What does this one mean to you, anyway? It's got one of the stupidest names ever! 'Total Drama Island,' please!"

"You don't understand! You'll never understand!" Chris protested as he also stood up. "A teenage version of Survivor? It would've been GOLDEN! It would've been seen in over 100 countries, it could've spawned up to five sequel seasons at least! It could've…"

"…been a flop like Canadian Idol?"

"No! THAT was a ripoff show! THIS would've been inspired by the greatest reality show ever, not a ripoff of it!"

"For the last time, pretty boy!" Chef then leaned in close to Chris's face, making sure to lean over him to seem even more imposing. "Stop reminding yourself of cancelled shows!"

But just then, before Chris could say anything in response, there was a massive crashing of glass behind them. They both turned to see that the massive, wall-sized window had been completely smashed open, and a massive figure tumbled through it, rolling across the floor, then screeching to a sudden halt.

The cat hissed wildly as the figure slowly began to stand up, revealing itself from the darkness.

Chris and Chef gasped in absolute horror.

The figure that stood before them was an unimaginable monstrosity. It stood nearly 20 feet tall, with orange, scaly skin like something out of a bad Japanese monster movie. It had massive clawed feet and clawed hands. It's hair was a sickening bright green, and seemed sharper than a cactus. It had a short, stumpy orange tail, and long, sharp teeth.

"Chris McLean?" It spoke in a deep, gruff voice that could've belonged to either gender.

"…Huh?!"

"CHRIS MCLEAN!"

"What…what are you?! What do you want?! What are you doing here?! What are yo-BLEAH!"

Chris's flurry of questions was cut off instantly when it wrapped a single hand around his body, nearly choking him.

"You come with me now!"

"ACK! NO! CHEF! HELP!"

But Chef could only stare, knees shaking, as the figure turned to him and growled with those giant, piercing eyes.

With a rather girly scream, Chef turned and ran off into another room.

"Ah, come on! REALLY, CHEF?!"

Then the figure turned and dashed right back out the massive hole in the window, leaving behind only a slight draft…

…but not before, in the instant in which Chef feigned fear, he managed to draw a small gun out of his pocket, turn around, and fire it at the creature while it wasn't looking. It emitted a small black chip that flew through the air and latched onto the creature's right leg, attaching firmly to the scaly skin.

…

Chef sat in the newly-christened Operations Room, where he leaned over the computer console, staring up at the screen depicting an amateur overhead map of Toronto. The red, flashing, beeping dot on the screen representing the tracking device moved rather quickly through the city, well to the outskirts of the city and quickly moving to the edge of the map.

"My goodness. That thing, whatever it is, is moving mighty fast, and leaving the city, too."

Dander Boy then walked up to Chef and leapt into his lap, purring in a tone that conveyed fear even in the animal.

"I know, boy. It was horrible, wasn't it? But what was it?"

The cat meowed.

"Well, clearly this is not something to go to the police about. I've got to handle this."

"Meow, meow-ow?"

"No, silly! Not because this is a job for Hostman and Pythonicus…because this is a job for Pythonicus! Finally, _I'll_ get my time to shine! I'll get to go in myself and save Hostman, and finally make him appreciate me more as a sidekick!"

"Meow-ow? Meow!"

"Hmm…you're right. That means that _I'll_ need a sidekick now. Hmm…"

"_Me_-ow?"

"Maybe Hostman's suggestion wasn't so crazy after all. I could use you pretty well, couldn't I little kitty-kitty?"

The cat meowed approvingly.

"Alright! Let's suit up and ready the chopper!"

He lifted his head back toward the screen, grinning smugly as he watched the red dot scurry away.

"The chase…is on."

…

Chris woke up, his vision blurry as he tried to make sense of the situation.

He cringed and sat up, hearing a loud, ominous creak of weak wood as he did so.

He shook his head once and looked around. As his vision came into focus, he finally realized where he was.

It was a smelly, worn-down old cabin. The wood all around him – particularly the bed on which he was lying – creaked loudly from its years of wear, tear, and lack of care. The curtains and sheets were all torn, stained, and stiff. There were cracks in the windows and holes in the floor. A constant drip-drop of some sort of liquid constantly dropping from above. And the sound of rats, roaches, and other creatures scurrying along on the floor below.

Chris slowly turned to his side, letting his legs hang over the bed, and stepped down..

…only to fall off the top bunk he was sitting on, crashing right to the wooden floor…

…and subsequently crash _through_ the wooden floor, falling to the dirt, grass, and other muck that was underneath the cabin suspended on concrete blocks.

"Oooh. Arugh! Gross! Where am I?!"

He then tried to straighten up, only to crash his head into the wooden floor above him, knocking him back to the wet ground.

Mumbling and cursing to himself, he slowly crawled out from under the cabin, finally getting a chance to stand up straight and take in the full environment around him…

He saw a small, poorly-maintained campsite around him, with an adjoining cabin similar to the one he had just emerged from, and another, larger cabin a little ways away. There was a bonfire pit nearby, as well as a worn-down dock, littered with holes.

"Wait…this place…"

And above all else, there were puddles of liquid, ranging from rain puddles to small lakes, littering the campsite. Yellow barrels stamped with hazmat signs, entire trees toppled over and dissolving slowly in some of these puddles.

"…it can't be!"

"It CAN be!"

Chris turned suddenly and saw the massive figure emerge from behind the larger cabin, stomping towards him with loud, booming footsteps.

"Take good look, McLean." It growled. "Look at what could've been!"

"This…this is where Total Drama Island was going to be filmed, wasn't it?!"

"You right."

"Well, what the heck am I doing here?! And I ask again: What the heck ARE you?!"

"I was gonna be famous thanks to Total Drama Island, too! I wanted to be famous like you! I was gonna be contestant on show!"

"Hm, I don't remember a tall, mutated freak among the top applicants…"

"I WASN'T ALWAYS FREAK LIKE THIS!" It roared, causing the earth to shake and a flock of birds to instantly take flight.

"I was once human too! Like you! I was once good-looking, like you!"

"Ha! Impossible! No one is as beautiful as me, not even if Marilyn Monroe and Fabio had a kid!"

"I was promising rising star, daughter of famous man seeking her own fame."

"Oh, really? The 'rich daddy' complex, eh? And who might your father be?"

The creature hung its massive head for a few seconds, then glared back up at Chris with a look in its eyes that seemed almost sad.

"My daddy…Charles Milton."

Chris gasped in shock and horror.

…

The red helicopter sped through the dawn, soaring over the various territories as it was clearly leaving the urban areas behind.

Pythonicus looked down at the smaller version of the computer screen, the red dot now motionless, but still beeping, out over the water off the coast of Muskoka.

"Hmm. Where could this thing be heading now, Dander Boy?"

"Meow?" Dander Boy meowed in the seat next to him, clearly enjoying all the space that it had to itself.

"Beats me, too. Somewhere outside of Muskoka. What's in Muskoka of importance besides…"

"…nothing?"

"Meow! Meow-owow? Meeeeow!"

Pythonicus gasped in horror.

"You're…you're right, Dander Boy! That would've been the filming location of…Total…Drama…ISLAND!"

…

"Charles Milton was one of my idols! You're his DAUGHTER?! YOU'RE Dakota Milton?!"

"I WAS Dakota Milton! Now I just a freak. THANKS TO YOU!" It leaned in close and roared this last statement in his face, causing him to stumble backwards and fall to the ground.

"What? How is it MY fault that you're…a gigantic freak?!"

"Look around you, McLean! See the toxic waste?!"

"Yeah." Chris replied as he stood up and brushed himself off. "That toxic waste, along with a severe lack of money and originality at Fresh TV, was the main reason the show was shut down! The toxic waste company bought out the entire island to use as their major dumping grounds for all their failed or faulty materials. They were willing to pay more than the producers were willing to spend, but only after they sealed the deal did we realize that it was our only viable filming location."

"YES! But not before you advertised this location in applicant interview process!"

"But I didn't tell any applicants to come here! Not until the selection process was finalized and we actually started filming!"

"Ah…but that where I made mistake. I was determined to get on show, no matter the cost!"

"What…what are you saying…?!"

"I came here a year ago, with two bodyguards, in boat! We came to island ahead of time hoping to interrupt filming so that I could make impression on YOU, Chris McLean!"

Chris gasped again as the monster pointed a giant, clawed, accusatory finger directly in his face. He began walking backwards slowly, towards the bonfire pit in the distance.

"But when we arrive, we only find horrible toxic smell, terrifying creatures, pools of acid everywhere! By the time we realize what was truly wrong, we had gone too far inland, and were cornered by an army of mutant, toxic beasts of horrible appearance, size, strength, and sound!"

"I can't imagine how horrible that must've looked." He commented nonchalantly.

"We were chased into a cave…I was separated from my bodyguards…never saw them again, and I tripped while I was running…flew right into pool of waste!"

"Yeesh!"

"My transformation didn't happen quickly…it was long…drawn-out…over time…and PAINFUL!"

"OK, OK! So bottom line: How is any of this MY fault?!"

"I had hopes and dreams, McLean!"

"You don't say?"

They were now in the bonfire area, with Chris still backing up slowly among the wooden stumps and the fire pit itself.

"I wanted to be famous like you, and like daddy! You were my one chance at being famous, and it was because of my desire to meet you and secure spot on show that I came here in the first place! I was gonna be famous! I was gonna be biggest thing on TV! Biggest thing in WORLD!"

In its fury, the monster grabbed the old wooden sign, the faded yellow words still reading "Total Drama Island," and yanked it out of the ground, posts and all. It then broke the sign clean in half right down the middle, ripping through the wood like it was wet paper.

"Well, in that case…you should be thanking me!"

"Say WHA?!"

"Look at you! You're huge! You're different! You're unique! Even if you never get a single TV camera aimed at you, you're technically ALREADY the biggest thing in the world!"

He crossed his arms and closed his eyes with a satisfied grin, content that he had gotten his message across…

…only for a blind force to send him flying off his feet and through the air, landing all the way on the dock. He slid along the rough, weak wood, collecting a handful of splinters along the way, and stopped at the top of the T in the dock's shape.

He slowly looked up, wincing from the pain, just in time to see the figure leap up off the ground with its own power, landing on the beach just several yards away from the dock. It then began slowly trudging through the water up to the dock.

He quickly scrambled to his feet, backing up slowly.

"OK, OK, come on! Lighten up! It…it doesn't have to go down like THIS!"

"Oh…it does. It does, McLean…it does."

The monster then swept him up in one hand and began trudging back towards the shore.

"No! Put me down!"

The monster walked right back up onto the shore and returned to the bonfire pit, raising Chris high over the pit itself.

"Ack! Stop! What are you…"

He then finally looked down into the massive metal tub, and saw what was in it.

It was filled to the brim with the bubbling, gooey toxic waste, with various little specks of random solid objects floating in it. The smoke and fumes that rose from it were very overpowering.

"NO! Please! You can't do this! YOU CAN'T!"

"I spent a year suffering in isolation, adapting to my surroundings and mutated self, not knowing what to do with myself. Only now did I finally gather courage to do what I should've done long time ago."

"PLEASE! I BEG YOU! I'M TOO YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL!"

It then turned Chris around in its hand and held his face close to its own monstrous maw.

"So was I." It growled.

But just then, the sound of a spinning blade could be heard coming in from above at a rapidly-increasing pace.

"Huh?!" The monster turned and looked up just as the red helicopter came swooping in, aimed right at her.

It gasped and ducked out of the way, bringing Chris back to the safety of the ground with it, right next to the pot of waste.

The helicopter swung back around, now hovering directly over the bonfire area.

Pythonicus hit the "auto-pilot" switch, then flipped both levers to drop both rope-ladders, one from each landing strut. He opened the door and jumped down his ladder, while Dander Boy slid down his own.

The hero and the cat landed perfectly on the ground before the massive monstrosity and its victim.

"Freeze right there, fiend!"

"What is this?! Some kind of joke?!"

"I'm Pythonicus, and this is MY sidekick, Dander Boy! The heroic duo who's been fighting off the greatest evils Canada has ever known…and I do think you qualify."

"You won't stop me! This is my revenge!"

"We'll see about that!"

Pythonicus then drew his snake-whip and cracked it threateningly at the monster. It finally released Chris, turning now to focus all its attention on the masked man and the cat.

"Stand back, Dander Boy! I think my venom will do enough!"

The monster lunged at Python, only for him to sidestep and crack his whip, striking at the monster's left ankle.

It groaned and turned to face him.

Pythonicus merely grinned, waiting for the tranquilizers to take effect.

But after a long pause, nothing happened.

His eyes widened behind the mask.

"Uh…"

The monster then kicked him with its left foot, sending him flying back several yards, where he crashed into the remains of the destroyed sign.

The monster was swiftly on him in a matter of seconds, swiping him up in one hand.

It then turned back to Chris, who was already running down the beach as fast as he could.

In a single bound, it leapt up into the air, coming down on the beach right in front of Chris.

"Whah?! Oh, come ON!"

Swiping him up as well, it slowly began stomping back to the bonfire area.

"I don't even know who you are, Pithicus, but you make me angry! So now you BOTH become freaks like me!"

It then raised them both high above the pit, the liquid bubbling menacingly below.

But just then, an unseen force suddenly enveloped the monster's entire head, tearing away at it with a fierce anger and determination like never seen before…all the while accompanied by a ferocious hissing.

"AUGH! OOF! OW! EYARGH!"

The monster stumbled around blindly as Dander Boy ferociously scratched at its head, bouncing around it and scratching again and again, the hissing louder than ever in the monster's ears.

Through the pain, the monster once again released its victims, who fell to the ground on either side of the pit of chemicals.

"Huh?!" Chris gasped as he looked up at the monster after shaking his head.

"Dander Boy!" Pythonicus exclaimed happily.

"EYURGH! GET…OFF!" The monster roared as it tried to remove the cat, but the cat was too agile and too fast for it to grab, especially with the monster's confusion increasing rapidly.

Pythonicus turned back to the remains of the sign, where his snake-whip was lying on the ground after he had dropped it.

In an instant, he climbed to his feet and made a dash for the whip. Swiping it off the ground, he returned to the bonfire area and got cautiously close to the monster's feet once again.

"Let's try this again…"

He cracked his whip harder and more firmly than before, lodging the teeth of the snake's head in the monster's flesh and holding them in for a few more seconds.

He then withdrew the whip and stepped back. The monster, still too distracted by Dander Boy, didn't seem to notice.

"One more time!"

Pythonicus cracked the whip once more as before, forcing the teeth into the monster's skin between several scales, this time in the other leg. Just as he pulled the whip back out, the monster raised its foot as it stumbled around some more.

"UUUURRRRGGGHHHH!"

Chris stumbled to his feet and cautiously hid behind Pythonicus, who backed off as the monster stumbled around some more.

"Alrighty, I think that's enough exercise for one day! Dander Boy! Here!"

In an instant, the cat ceased its attacks and leapt off the monster's head, perching gracefully on Pythonicus's shoulder.

The monster, now free of its tormentor at last, slowly dropped its arms, letting them swing at its sides. Its face, as to be expected, was thoroughly covered in claw marks and swelling.

"Ooooohhhh…."

Then, at long last, the venoms took effect. Added in with the obvious pain from the cat's attack, the damage took its toll. Like Goliath, the monster slowly toppled over.

"Uh-oh! RUN!"

The two men and the cat dashed out of the way, diving for cover as the monster fell over and landed right on top of the pit of chemicals, knocking it up into the air. After a few seconds, it came right back down and landed on top of the monster, the liquids spilling all over its torso and head with a fizzling sound.

After a long pause, both men finally exhaled a long, and well-deserved, sigh of relief.

"My God. What…what IS that thing?!"

"It's a long story, Python. A LONG story."

"Well, it's a long trip back to Toronto."

"I guess so."

Pythonicus then cracked his whip up into the air, wrapping the end of it around the bottom rung of one of the ladders. He then used it to climb up to the ladder itself, with Chris and Dander Boy following him back up to the helicopter.

Once they climbed into the cockpit and closed the doors, Chef removed the mask and exhaled again.

"Man alive!" Chef exclaimed as he reached for the police radio. "I feel sorry for the police who have to clean that one up!"

"Yeah…"

After Chef left his semi-anonymous message, as Pythonicus, for the local police that a dangerous kidnapper and attempted murderer had been found at the island of Wawanakwa, he hung up the microphone and started up the helicopter. After withdrawing the ladders and taking over for the auto-pilot, he turned to Chris.

"So…"

"Yeah?"

"I pretty much saved you from that one, didn't I?

"Uh, yeah. I guess you did. How did you even find me?!"

"Tracking device that I managed to fire onto the creature as it took you. Another very handy gadget that was surprisingly cheap on Craigslist."

"Nice! I approve."

"But like I said…I just saved your life from a mutated freak. So I hope that this proves to you that I'm far more valuable than just a mere sidekick, and that I'd like a little appreciation."

"Well, technically, Dander Boy here did all the saving."

"What?"

"Think about it! You and I _both_ would've been toast, literally and figuratively!"

Chef looked down at the cat, already asleep in his lap from the exhaustion.

"Yeah, I guess you're actually right for once!"

"Of course I am. So technically, shouldn't we both be more appreciative of Dander Boy, then?"

Chef looked from Chris, to the cat, then back to Chris.

"Yeah, OK, I'll stay as your sidekick, and Dander Boy will only rarely be allowed to come along."

"Exactly. Because as awesome as that was, it was almost too easy! What's the fun of beating the snot out of bad guys if the cat does all the work for us? And so quickly and effortlessly, too? Imagine, Chef: If Dander Boy could do that to a 15-foot mutated freak, then how quickly would the cat take down, say, Duncan?"

"I suppose you're right. OK, so only when we're hopelessly outnumbered or outmatched will Dander Boy aid us."

"Good man."

"So then is there anything we can take away from this? Even a tiny little moral or lesson for another day?"

"Hmm…" Chris thought as he touched his chin, glancing down at the scenery passing by below.

He snapped his fingers.

"Got it! I know what the moral of this story is!"

"And?"

"I'm never gonna get angry, or obsessive, or paranoid over the fact that Total Drama Island was cancelled ever again!"

"Good! And why is that?"

"Because as awesome as the show was promising to be…as sucky as it was that it got cancelled under such circumstances…at least it didn't cause me to turn into a mutated, toxic freak like The 15-Foot Woman back there."

"True that, man. True that."

And the helicopter flew away over the wilderness, the three friends all beginning a long and well-deserved break.

**Author's Note: And the correct answer – Dakota – was guessed by Munchlax Jr! Congratulations! And thanks to our other participant, nightmaster000, who guessed Sierra. Close, but that's exactly what I was going for: I used wording that would imply Sierra, but could be used to describe Dakota's obsessiveness with fame as well.**

…**But will Sierra be featured in later chapters? You'll just have to wait and see!**

**Next episode: An over-ambitious individual is transformed forever, ironically, by his namesake. Who could it be?**


	4. The Delicate Sound of Lightning

The Delicate Sound of Lightning

"And thus ended the latest criminal caper to terrorize Toronto, courtesy of everyone's favorite masked duo. Now let's cut to my partner Blaineley, who's braving the unusually violent storm tonight to cover the latest attempt at a Guinness Record breaking right here in Toronto!"

A noticeably-satisfied Josh then turned to the live feed, where his cohost was wearing a red poncho that might as well have been a kite. The rain was whipping wildly against both her and the camera at a nearly 45-degree angle, and the wind muffled the microphone so much that she could barely be heard.

"And now, here we are live on the airfield on the Toronto Islands, where the son of a local celebrity is looking to make it big by breaking a Guinness World Record!" She shouted over the fury of nature. She then walked over a few feet to reveal their guest. "Lightning Jackson, what is your goal here tonight, as you, I, the Guinness Records representative, and our brave cameraman endure this powerful maelstrom?"

"Thanks for having me, Blaineley! First off, let me give a big shout-out to my dad! I hope you're proud of me, pops! 'Cause tonight, I'm gonna finally make my own headlines!"

"For those of you back home who still don't know the obvious," Blaineley interjected, "Lightning's father is sports champion Michael Jordon Jackson, or 'MJJ,' as he's popularly referred to for short!"

"Whoa." Chris commented from his chair. "That's MJJ's son?"

"Spittin' image of his old man, ain't he?" Chef replied. "Seems like just yesterday he was just a little cocky squirt running around while we had our squadron reunions."

"Huh?" Chris said as he turned to Chef, genuinely shocked. "You and MJJ served together?"

"Yep. We were good friends even before that. We went to college together, and after the way, just a few years before he became famous, we'd play poker every Tuesday night. But then, of course, fame and money and spotlights came his way, and he didn't have time for his little people friends anymore."

"Ah. Tragic."

"That's right! Now we'll become the most famous father-son duo since the Bushes! I promise, pops; this'll just be the first of many records that'll go to Lightning Jackson! Sha-bam!"

Just then, the crackle of lightning and thunder erupted in the sky, both on the screen and outside the roof over the two hosts' heads, causing both of them to cringe while Blaineley, on the screen, covered her ears.

"And the record young Mr. Jackson will be looking to break tonight is the fastest run of what's referred to as 'The Ben Franklin Dash:' A 100-meter dash in a thunder and lightning storm, across an open surface, while wearing a variety of metal objects like armor, and holding a KITE!"

"I've already reminded Mr. Jackson that, while the kite is dangerous enough, but required as per the namesake of the challenge, the metal is not necessary, and highly discouraged!" The Guinness representative, a short, stocky man with glasses and brown hair, roared over the noise. "The open area in a thunder and lightning storm is dangerous enough, but the metal raises the risk of drawing lightning to him!"

"Not to worry!" Lightning responded. "I dare the lightning to strike me, and I know it won't! Because the most powerful lightning bolt here is ME! Sha-BAM!"

Another boom of thunder shook all four individuals down to their cores.

"Alright! Enough talk! It's time to start!" Lightning declared.

"Ten bucks says he wimps out?" Chris bet as he turned to Chef again.

"No way. I know that kid. He's not about to back down…even if he were to stare death in the face, he'd spit at it first before he'd consider running away."

Soon, Lightning was standing behind a thin white line on the ground, crouched on all fours and ready to go. Covering his body were various pieces of makeshift armor, from a pan on his head, to a metal hatch cover for his chestplate, to metal leggings from an old suit of armor.

"Are you ready, Mr. Jackson?!" The Guinness representative shouted over the storm.

"That's LIGHTNING, sha-fool!"

"Fine! Are you ready, _Lightning_!?"

"Sha-ready!"

"Three! Two! One! BEGIN!"

And with that, Lightning took off past the white line, racing down the landing strip towards the other white line further off in the distance. He held bot harms in front of him, clutching the kite string in both hands. The small red kite was initially dragging right behind him, but soon quickly shot up into the air, nearly 20 feet above him. The dark clouds continued to roll over above him, with the thunder rumbling and the lightning flashing behind the clouds. Still no actual lightning bolts to be seen as of yet.

"And look at him go!" Blaineley shouted into the microphone. "Such determination! Such speed!"

Finally, a streak of lightning flashed across the night sky, followed shortly after by another booming roll of thunder.

"It seems he's nearing 50 meters!" The representative shouted, holding a flimsy clipboard in his hands.

"In less than 20 seconds?!" Blaineley shouted back. "Sounds like he could do it after all!"

"SHA-BAAAAAAM!" Lightning shouted as he continued running like mad, the kite whipping in the air behind him.

Chris chuckled nonchalantly. "This is gonna be good. I can already tell that it just won't end well for him."

"I don't know." Chef replied. "He's already halfway there…"

"COME ON, LIGHTNING! STRIKE ME, WHY DON'T YA?! YOU'RE AFRAID, AIN'T YA?! THAT'S RIGHT! YOU'RE NAMED AFTER ME; NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND! SHA-"

But just then, although Lightning was now a much more distant figure on the screen, the moment still came through with brutal and shocking clarity. Another flash of lightning, much closer than the previous one, and the lower tip of the bolt didn't stop at the kite. It had practically hit the ground at the very spot where Lightning was standing.

In that moment, the electrical discharge, combined with the obvious shock of the man holding the camera, caused the entire moment to be thrown into obscurity.

"Hey! WHOA!" The cameraman screamed as he struggled to keep hold of the camera. Somehow, a strange wave of electricity discharging from the spot where Lightning had been standing affected the camera, and was causing it to short-circuit momentarily.

"Steve, you fool!" Blaineley shouted. "Keep the camera on hi-AUGH!" Blaineley's order was cut off by another startling thunderclap.

The camera was shaking wildly, briefly showing Blaineley in her red poncho, then the Guinness representative, and then the screen started going to static.

And all the while, during this entire few seconds, over the wind, and the rain, and the thunder, and the shouting, one sound could be heard in the distant background. As far away as it was, it was loud enough and devastating enough to be heard clearly in the foreground.

Lightning's scream.

"My…My God!" Chef stuttered.

"Whoa. I should've bet ten bucks that he'd soon meet his namesake." Chris mused.

"Uh, looks like we've got a bit of technical difficulties!" Josh reported as the feed cut back to the studio, with a smaller version of the images on the live camera shown inset next to his head. "We'll get back to them after…"

"Steve! GET UP! Get the camera on him!" Blaineley could be heard shouting. "He's been hit! Repeat: Lightning Jackson has been struck by Lightning! STEVE!"

"I warned him!" The representative could be heard shouting. "I warned…"

The camera was now on the ground, sideways. Though some static disrupted the picture, one thing could be clearly seen in the background behind Blaineley's feet.

The small red kite, whipping and fluttering away in the wind.

Nothing else could be seen on the entire runway.

_Several weeks later…_

"…and in other news, there is still no sign of young Lightning Jackson after his disappearance nearly three weeks ago." Josh reported.

"His father, MJJ, is still in complete media isolation after his son's mysterious disappearance, especially under the circumstances in which a horrified Canada last saw the ambitious young overachiever."

The image then cut to a picture of a single large hand which was being held in front of the camera, the figure of the famous celebrity behind it, his face barely obscured from the photographer.

"The manhunt is rumored to be coming to a close soon, with little to no hope of ever finding the promising youth."

"Correction." Chris commented softly to himself, glancing at one of the police radio interception devices on the table next to him.

"Unit 5, prepare to return to headquarters. You're all being reassigned on account of the futile nature of the search, over."

"…The manhunt _is_ coming to a close soon." Chris finished.

Chef sighed as he slowly and softly pet his cat. "You know, as superheroes and all, we don't just have to fight bad guys. We can also do good, non-violent, non-action things, like saving a cat from a tree…or searching for a lost kid…?"

"But there's no fun in that! It's all about fighting to the finish with supervillains! Do you think Batman or Superman comics featured them saving cats or finding lost children on milk cartons? No! Besides: We'll get more media coverage for catching, defeating, and leaving bad guys for the cops."

Chef sighed again and shook his head.

"Besides, why do you want to help find MJJ's lost kid? I thought you said he abandoned you and all his other friends for fame."

"Sure, he did…but that doesn't mean I should hold it against him forever."

Just then, the radio crackled with activity once more.

"All units, all units, be advised: We have a break-in at 414 Orlando Drive, the home of Tyler Johnson Sr."

"The triple-threat basketball, football, and baseball star?" Chris asked to himself.

"Yep." Chef replied. "He and MJJ are arch-rivals."

"Chef, my man." Chris turned to his friend. "Or, should I say…Pythonicus. Suit up."

…

A swift punch sent the massive athlete flying backwards, smashing against a mannequin that bore his baseball uniform, knocking it to pieces and sending the clothing flying.

"Dad!" The young teen in the red tracksuit shouted as he ran up to his father and knelt beside him.

"Oooh…"

"Why are you doing this?!" The teen shouted to the intruder.

His wounded father lifted his head to see what his adversary was doing. And when he did, his eyes widened.

"NO!" Johnson shouted. "Please! I beg of you!"

The tall villain turned from the smashed glass case to face the athlete. He was a tall, well-built figure with armor plating around his legs and arms, covering his skin color. It had a thick motorcycle helmet over its head, with a pitch-black visor that covered his face and muffled his voice.

"I'm just a poor lost soul looking to get even."

"Even for what?! I don't know you!"

"You don't know me now…but you knew me, and people very close to me, as rivals. Since I am forever incapable of moving past failure, I am seeking to get even the only way other I can: By bringing you down to my level."

"So that's why you're stealing my trophies?!" Johnson shouted. "That's crazy! Even if you steal the materialistic symbols, my greatest victories and accomplishments will still be remembered!"

"We'll see." He muttered as he snatched another armful of trophies and dumped them in his massive burlap sack.

"Don't worry, dad. I've already called the cops!"

"Good, Tyler…Don't worry about me. I've had worst hits in my off-seasons. Just stay away from him, and we'll be good."

"We'll see about that…"

"This is the police!" A magnified voice shouted from outside. "We have the place surrounded! Come out with your hands up!"

"Oh, nuts. The cops. Looks like they'll be the next to be struck by…"

The figure turned to the two victims as it tightened the open end of the burlap sack.

"…the Lightning Bolt."

It then turned and quickly dashed out of the trophy room, which was now a shattered, disheveled, destroyed mess of shattered glass, upturned pedestals, and smashed plaques.

As the figure descended the spiral staircase, it could hear the voices from outside frantically shouting something else.

"Hey! Who's that?!"

"It's those two masked fellas! Stop! You are crossing police lines!"

The figure grinned menacingly behind the visor. "Looks like the father and son won't be the only duo to feel the shock."

The figure slung the bag over its shoulder as it reached the bottom of the stairs, just in time to see the duo smash through a large window, rolling across the floor, and stopping just in front of it.

"Hold it right there!"

"Ah…the two most feared adversaries of the Toronto underworld." The figure replied. "What an honor to finally be in your presence."

"And what exactly is your business with Mr. Johnson?"

"Oh, nothing much…just a little score-settling."

"Then I assume that bag contains Johnson's most valuable items?"

"In a way, yes."

The figure then held the bag in front of itself and opened the top, revealing all the trophies, small statues, plaques, and other awards.

Both men gasped.

"You wouldn't!" Pythonicus hissed.

"Oh I would…and I will, too!"

And then, while the duo was still distracted by the stolen goods, the figure quickly reached into its belt with the other hand and withdrew a Taser. Leaping forward with incredible speed, it quickly delivered a swift shock to Pythonicus's chest, bringing the massive man down in a series of convulsions. Hostman was quick to throw a single punch to the back of the figure's head, only for his fist to reverberate from the impact against the solid metal.

The figure then spun around and quickly pressed the Taser into Hostman's chest as well, sending the powerful electricity flying through his body at once. Hostman slowly crumbled to his knees, then to all fours, gasping for breath.

"You've both been struck by…The Lightning Bolt! Sha-bam!"

Even as Hostman struggled to breathe, he still couldn't help but gasp and slightly lift his head in shock as the last word set in.

"It can't be…"

But then the figure was gone.

After a few moments, the two men heard the voices outside.

"Police! Freeze! Drop your weapons now and get on the ground!"

"Weapon_s_?" Hostman asked.

"I thought he only had the Taser." Pythonicus muttered as he shook his head and started to stand up.

"Prepare for the shock of your lives, fools!"

Then they could barely hear the sound of something, some kind of liquid, being fired at high velocity, followed shortly after by a sharp rise of screams of pain, shock, and agony as the police officers panicked and fled in numerous directions. Some powerful discharges of electricity could be heard, resulting in several explosions and the subsequent sound of debris crashing to the ground.

Hostman and Pythonicus, after helping each other up, stumbled towards the window they had smashed through and saw the full scope of the damage that had been done.

Of all the cop cars that had been parked outside, only two were still intact. One was still burning at that moment, two were completely charred brownish-black, and there was a black scorch mark on the ground where one had clearly been, with debris all over the place. A vast majority of the officers were writhing on the ground, soaking wet and with occasional bursts of electricity briefly appearing on each of them. A few more scattered officers were frantically trying to assist their fallen comrades or call for backup.

"My God." Pythonicus gasped. "What happened?"

"Only one way to find out." Hostman replied, glancing in the direction where he could barely see the distant figure dashing off down the street and into the night.

Hostman reached for his belt, flipped open a small lid, and pressed the red button within, summoning the red helicopter that was hovering in auto-pilot not too far away. Within less than a minute, the helicopter was directly overhead, and both heroes quickly climbed in using the landing struts. Pythonicus took the wheel, brought the helicopter to a decent altitude, then began to move forward in the direction the figure had run.

The chase was on.

…

"Looks like we've got him cornered at last, Hostman!" Pythonicus exclaimed.

Hostman leaned over and looked out the windshield at the area below. It was a massive junkyard, surrounded on all sides by a 15-foot high metal wall, lined with barbed wire, and the mountains of junk extending as high as a 4-story building. Every brief now and then, they could see the figure dashing between the piles of trash.

"Alright. Let's get ready to head down there, Python." Hostman declared.

"Sure thing…but first…" Pythonicus then activated the auto-pilot and reached into his belt.

"What is it?"

"I've gotta make a call."

"What?!" Hostman exclaimed. "Now?! We've got a crook to catch and beat the snot out of!"

"I know…but this is an important call."

"Who could possibly be important enough for you to call at this time?!"

Pythonicus finished dialing the number. As he held the phone to his ear, he turned to Hostman with a solemn stare.

"An old friend."

…

"Haha! Those losers never knew what hit 'em, even after I told them! Sha-Suckas!"

The figure approached the massive crushing machine, slowly ascending the stairs on the side of it to the control panel beside the massive chute. Above him, the dark night sky became even darker as thick, dark clouds began to roll in and block out the moon and stars. A very faint, distant rumbling could be heard.

"Alright, Johnson. Say goodbye to all your successes and hello to your failures…like me."

He then began opening the bag, holding it high above his head.

"Hold it!"

"Huh?"

The figure lowered the bag and turned to see the two masked men behind him on the ground below the machine.

"Well. You two have determination, I'll give ya that. You almost give me a run for my money…almost."

"Sure. Just drop the act already, Lightning!"

If the figure was stunned by their discovery, he didn't show it.

"So, you figured me out, did ya? But I've still got more surprises for ya!"

The figure then set the bag down and lifted its hands towards its helmet. Grabbing it carefully by both sides, he slowly lifted the dark helmet off of his head, lifting the black visor away to reveal his head at long last.

Hostman and Pythonicus let out a gasp of shock when they both saw one vastly different detail.

Lightning Jackson's hair was now perfectly white.

"See! I knew you wouldn't see this coming!"

"Your hair…what happened?" Pyhonicus asked.

"Don't tell me you dyed it as part of a disguise or something. Because if you did, it's the worst disguise I've ever seen! And believe me, I've seen a LOT of crappy disguises." Hostman added.

"If this white hair was something I did, would I NEED this?!"

And with that, Lightning tossed the helmet backwards over his head, right into the compacter chute below.

"The accident did this! No matter how long I waited or how much I dyed it, it wouldn't work! I'm forever old from the scalp up! I'm hideous!"

"That's nothing new." Hostman muttered.

"And what do you think you're doing with all of those awards?" Pythonicus asked firmly.

"Sha-duh? What does it look like, fools?!"

Lightning then held the bag upside-down, allowing all of the valuables to drop into the chute, landing between the four parallel hydraulic presses. Both masked men gasped in horror.

"That's right. All of his past victories will be turned into a worthless hunk of metal!"

"You wouldn't!"

"Oh, I would…and I will! Watch!"

Lighting then pressed a large red button, and then grabbed the handle of a nearby lever, squeezed it, and then pulled the lever. The sound of mechanics starting up and whirring into motion could be heard, and the press activated.

First, two of the opposite pressure plates moved in close together, meeting in the middle and pressing firmly up against each other with only minimal resistance from the trophies within. The crunching and grinding of the metal could be heard as all the awards were smashed and destroyed. The two plates then returned to their previous spots, and the two perpendicular plates pressed in, crushing the metallic hunk within from the other side. Once they met in the middle, they slowly moved back into their original spot. Then the single horizontal plate at the top slowly began to press down into the square hole, flattening the hunk within and molding it into a cubic shape.

When the top plate returned, the small metal hatch on the side opened up as the conveyor belt activated, and out rolled a yellowish cube of twisted metal, with spots of gray and brown for the various title plaques, as well as the helmet that Lightning had tossed in there earlier. It rolled right off the belt and onto the ground with a final metallic THUD.

"YOU…YOU FIEND." Pythonicus roared.

"And Johnson is only the beginning." Lightning elaborated as he stepped down the staircase, approaching the pair. "Every athlete in Toronto will be targeted until they've all felt my wrath. And then, maybe, just maybe, I'll move on to other athletes across Canada. Maybe even across the WORLD!"

"Well you'll have to get through us first!" Hostman declared as he and Pythonicus took on a fighting stance.

"Oh, really? Well that won't be so hard." He declared as he reached behind himself and withdrew a massive, unusually-bright and plastic-looking gun.

The two masked men stared at it for a few seconds, then glanced at each other.

Then burst out laughing.

"BWAHAHAHAHA!"

"What are you gonna do, squirt us to death?!"

"What, you think we got hydrophobia or something?!"

However, Lightning was clearly unamused as he reached into his belt and withdrew the Taser from earlier, holding down the button and activating the electric flow and loud buzzing.

Hostman and Pythonicus stopped laughing and stared nervously at the Taser, wondering what he was going to do.

Then, in an instant, Lightning aimed the water gun and fired, emitting a surprisingly large and powerful stream of water that soaked both men. He then held the tip of the Taser to the water flow while it was still firing, and the electric current traveled straight through the water spout and reached the masked duo.

Both men were electrocuted horribly, groaning and screaming in pain as they collapsed instantly in a pool of sparking water.

"HAHAHAHAHAHA! Sha-KNOCKOUT!" Lightning cheered.

"You…you won't…get away…with this." Hostman stammered.

"Oh, I already have. You see, by defeating you, I've accomplished another one of my goals!"

"What…do you…mean?" Pythonicus groaned.

"My failure was viewed by millions on live, national TV." Lightning explained as he holstered the gun and Taser. He approached Hostman and grabbed him by the collar.

"It's something I can't ever forget, or be forgiven for, or redeem, or do over!" With this, he delivered a swift punch to Hostman's chin, sending him flying up into the air, then crashing down in a pile of trash.

"All I could do was disappear, wait long enough to recover, and then…seek my revenge."

He then similarly moved towards Pythonicus, delivering a swift kick to his chest while he was still down, knocking him over with a grunt.

"If I can't have success ever again, then no one can! I can't succeed, so all others in my league must fail."

He kneeled down to grab Pythonicus's head, delivering a sharp right hook that sent him backwards a few more feet.

"That is why I'm bringing them all down to my level by destroying all the reminders of their successes!"

"Is that why you're doing this then, son?"

"HUH?!" Lightning gasped, shooting up to his feet and spinning around as the familiar voice came out of nowhere.

The masked men, each from their painful positions, slowly lifted their heads in the direction of the voice as well.

Sure enough, there was Michael Jordon Jackson himself.

"…Pops?"

"Lightning, is this really where you've been all this time? This is what you've been planning?"

"Pops…you must understand."

"No, Lightning. YOU must understand. Just because you failed doesn't mean everyone else has to suffer. We ALL fail at some point in time, don't you see? And when we fail, we have only ourselves to blame. We can't drag others down because of it!"

"But pops…I did it to impress you! To show you that I could be a winner, too! And I failed! I failed myself, I failed the record…and I failed you!"

"Son…" Jackson said calmly as he slowly approached his white-haired child. "You didn't fail me. It's not like I made a life-changing bet on your chances or anything. It was just a little Guinness World Record. Nothing major."

"…Really?"

"Of course, son. And in the end, even though it's wrong for you to destroy others' trophies and awards, you must realize the most important thing…"

The elder Jackson put his hands on his son's shoulders.

"The trophies are one thing. The victories themselves are a whole 'nother ball game."

"Really?"

"Really. Trophies, plaques, and rings are just the physical representation. They're no substitute for the real thing."

Lightning simply didn't know what, or how, to feel at this moment. He couldn't look his father in the eye, and simply hung his head in shame and confusion.

And all the while, the distant rumbling grew louder, closer, and more constant. There was a brief white flash among the clouds.

By this time, both Pythonicus and Hostman had managed to climb to their feet, straightening up and shaking off the shock.

Lightning, in a brief moment, glanced up and saw both men recovering and starting to approach.

In a fit of rage, he shook his head wildly, swept his father's arms away, and stepped back.

"NO!" He screamed. "I don't care! In the end, even if you can forgive me pops, _I_ still can't forgive me! And I'm the one who matters! It's MY life! MY failure! And MY revenge! And I! Will! Have! My! REVENGE!"

Lightning then leapt past his father and charged at the duo, raising his Taser high into the air.

Pythonicus leapt out of the way as the Taser came down, grabbing his snake-whip. He cracked it once at Lightning, who blocked it with the metal plate on his right arm. Hostman charged at Lightning from behind with a flying kick, but the kick barely managed to knock Lightning forward a few inches. He spun around and thrust the Taser forward, with Hostman barely being able to grab it and hold it away from himself. Lightning bent forward with increased strength, trying his hardest to press the electric tip to Hostman's face.

Then, in a swift motion, Hostman kicked up and knocked the Taser out of Lightning's hands. Lightning glanced up after it in shock, while Hostman reached into his belt and withdrew his own Taser, disguised as a microphone. He pressed down on the button and shoved the end of it into Lightning's chest. The electricity buzzed loudly from the Taser as it shook through Lightning's body…

…only Lightning barely moved, and didn't show any signs of pain.

"Huh?!" Hostman exclaimed in confusion.

Then, with a grin, Lightning reached down and firmly grabbed the end of Hostman's Taser, squeezing as tight as he could until he crushed the weapon between his fingers, releasing it to the ground as several chunks of metal and plastic.

"You think this white hair was the ONLY thing that lightning did to me? It also made me perfectly impervious to electricity and more tolerant of pain!"

Lightning then grabbed Hostman by the neck and by the waist, lifting him up over his head.

"It also tripled my strength! Sha-THROW!"

Lightning then tossed Hostman nearly 20 yards away, where he crashed into a pile of junk.

At that moment, another large and powerful force tackled Lightning from behind. He eventually managed to turn around and face Pythonicus, with the two equally-strong figures in an intense battle.

Hostman stumbled to his feet and shook his head. He soon managed to make out his sidekick fighting the white-haired villain, with a distraught and horrified Jackson Sr. watching from a distance.

Hostman then glanced at the massive hydraulic press platform, and took note of another apparatus that also extended from it, with the controls at the same panel Lightning had been standing by earlier.

With a single thought springing into his head, he dashed past the brawling duo and the sole spectator and up the stairs as fast as he could.

Soon, Lightning managed to gain the edge over Pythonicus, beginning to slam Python's head into the ground again and again with an evil laugh.

"Sha-bam! Sha-Bam! Sha-BAM!"

"Oh, Lightning?"

Lightning stopped and looked up in the direction of the other vigilante's voice. To his horror, he saw Hostman standing at the controls, casually operating the magnetic crane.

"I'll bet the accident didn't make you impervious to the laws of magnetic energy, did it?"

The crane swung over the elder Jackson, moving towards Lightning and Pythonicus.

"NO!"

Lightning leapt off his victim and began to turn around, but the crane was already overhead. Hostman moved the lever controlling the magnetic flow up to "Full Power," and the laws of physics kicked in.

The massive crane quickly began magnetizing the metal plates on Lightning's arms and legs, halting his escape and pulling him back.

"Augh! NO!"

Lightning stopped and frantically tried to remove one of the plates on his arm, but it was already too late. He was yanked off his feet and straight up into the air, where he slammed up against the magnetic disk, facing the ground below.

"Sha-NO!"

Hostman then began moving the crane back around to its original position over the hydraulic press, only when it passed over the elder Jackson, it hooked more than expected.

"Huh?!" Jackson exclaimed when his left arm was suddenly jerked up into the air as it swung over. He looked up and realized what was being drawn to the crane as well.

"MY RINGS! MY CHAMPIONSHIP RINGS!"

He reached up and frantically tried to cover his hand, but it was already too late. All five golden rings were easily sucked right off his fingers and up onto the metal plate in a small heap.

"NO! STOP! MY BEAUTIFUL RINGS!"

Hostman stopped the crane as it was directly over the press's chute. "Whoops! Sorry about that, Mr. Jackson. Let me just…um…"

He pressed a button and pulled a lever, only to accidentally start up the hydraulic press. The first two plates began to move inward in the pressing motion.

"Whoops! Wrong one! Um…let me…"

He then reduced the magnetic flow, dropping both Lightning and all five rings. The rings fell directly into the chute just as the first two plates began to retreat, while Lightning landed on the edge of the chute, barely avoiding the hole itself.

"Uuuhhh…" He groaned as he struggled to regain his thoughts.

"MY! RINGS! THEY'RE! IN! THAT! CHUTE!" Jackson screamed at the top of his lungs.

"Whuh?!" Lightning realized and rolled over slightly to look down into the hole, where the next two plates were already pressing inward.

In that last moment before the plates came together, he could see all five solid gold rings, their various stones planted in the centers with a variety of names and years inscribed in them.

And then the plates came together with the sickening crunching and crackling of metal.

"NOOOOOO!" Both Jacksons screamed in horror.

And then the two plates split apart again as the horizontal plate came straight down into the chute, flattening them.

The elder Jackson ran up to the conveyor belt just as the metal hatch opened, allowing the small golden cube to roll out and land on the ground in front of him. He collapsed to his knees as he slowly scooped up the metal cube.

"My…my rings."

Lightning dropped to the ground beside the machine and slowly approached his grieving father.

"…Pops?"

"No." He shot back firmly. "Stay away."

"But…but pops, I…"

"My rings. Everything I worked for, fought for, and won for…all gone."

"But it wasn't my fault, pops! I didn't drop them in that machine! It was him!"

"You led them here. You led me here! If it weren't for your criminal antics, then this wouldn't have happened!"

"But what about what you just said about the trophies and awards being the physical representation, and no substitute for the real victory?"

"Everyone ELSE'S trophies are just items! MINE were EVERYTHING to me! EVERYTHING!" Jackson then finally lifted his head and glared something fierce at his son. "You can fail at a world record. You can become a criminal. You can even take others' valuables and destroy them. But when you cause my beautiful championship rings to be destroyed…you've truly crossed the line."

"No…"

"Lightning…from this moment on…" Jackson rose to his feet.

"No!"

"…I hereby DISOWN YOU as my son!" He finished, pointing a sharp finger at Lightning.

"NOOOOOOO!" Lightning screamed again as he now fell to his knees, completely distraught and burying his face in his hands.

After a few more moments of sobbing, he suddenly felt the invisible force tugging on him again. Though this time, he barely resisted.

Once again, he was yanked backwards through the air and slammed up against the metal plate, arms and legs spread out as he stared down at the ground below him, where his father looked away.

Lightning hung his head, finally letting a few tears fall.

"Why, pops? Why? …"

"That's the exact same question I had for you." Jackson responded, then turned completely away.

There was a flash of white lightning across the sky, followed shortly after by the boom of thunder in the distance.

Then the rain slowly began to fall.

…

Pythonicus, removing his mask, looked back as the helicopter flew away from the junkyard. Chef Hatchet shook his head and looked back in the direction he was flying, where several flashing lights and sirens were approaching and drawing closer.

"Well, in the end, I think karma was justly served here, wasn't it?" Chris deduced as he removed the Hostman mask.

"How do ya figure that?"

"Well let's see: Lightning first got punished by failure, via real lightning, when he was overly-cocky in the challenge. Then he got karma for messing with others' success by getting beaten and arrested, as well as his father scolding him. And then, in a stretch, even his old man got the karma he deserved."

"His dad deserved karma?"

"Yeah. You know, for totally forgetting about all his friends after becoming famous, like you said. All that he put his effort and passion into instead of friends was taken from him forever tonight. I'd say just desserts were more than plentiful tonight."

"I guess so."

"After all, anyone who's willing to become THAT obsessed with fame, success, and fortune really does need to be put in their place eventually, right?"

Chef finally didn't have an immediate response, but instead simply turned to look at Chris. At first he had a look of slight confusion and contempt at the same time, but this slowly transitioned into a sly grin.

Chris finally noticed Chef's grin, and turned to face him. "What?"

Chef turned to look forward again. "For once, I couldn't agree more."

**Author's Note: Phew! Finally! Sorry if this chapter was a bit longer than usual. :P**

**And the winner this week is, for the second week in a row, Munchlax Jr, who guessed Lightning correctly! And another shout-out to our runner-up once again, nightmaster000, who guessed Alejandro.**

**Something I've wanted to mention for a while now…every time you finish the chapter, you should have another window open to the Batman: The Animated Series End Credits Theme on YouTube or something, and play that theme once the chapter's over. It really adds to the feel and mood of the story.**

**Next episode: A deranged psychopath becomes Hostman and Pythonicus's archrival.**


	5. All Kinds of Crazy

All Kinds of Crazy

The figure paced back and forth, suiting up with its various pieces of armor, equipment, and weapons.

"All my life…I've been preparing for this moment…"

It walked past a framed portrait of one particular reality show host hanging on the wall, next to a bazooka and a chainsaw.

"…I will finally have my revenge…"

It clipped on a utility belt.

"…he'll never see it coming…"

It then strapped the bazooka onto its back, the strap stretching around the front over its chest.

"…and by the end of tomorrow, I'll simply drive…him…CRA-ZAY! MWUHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!"

…

It was just a few minutes past midnight, and Chris McLean was sleeping soundly in his bed. The full moon was shining brightly outside, with the numerous stars dotting the sky around it…

…only the white light of the moon was blotted out by a small, slender figure rappelling down the side of the mansion, towards the bedroom window.

The figure bounced backwards off the glass one more time, then fell back against the glass pane as softly as possible. It reached into its belt and withdrew a strange device with two parallel rods, a circular metal disk at one end, and a lever at the other. It carefully placed the circular end against the glass and pressed it firmly, allowing it to stick with a slight sucking sound as the suction cups took their hold. It then extended the two parallel rods and pressed the small, sharp blade under the lever against the glass with a slight _nitch_ sound.

With a single quick glance inside, the figure watched as the sleeping celebrity still did not move.

With a deep breath, it grabbed the lever and began slowly rotating the blade in a large circle around the glass, slicing a clean, perfectly circular hole in the window. Once the blade came back to the starting point, it slowly pulled out, removing the device and the circle of glass with it, opening up a perfect hole in the window.

Dropping the device and the glass down into the bushes below, the figure slipped in through the hole, rolling across the floor and stopping beside the bed. It slowly lifted its head up and peeked at the sleeping host. Only his head was visible from outside the blankets, covering the rest of his body.

"Aw. A Chris McLean needs his beauty sleep." The figure commented. "Let me help with that."

The figure then reached behind itself and withdrew a wet cloth. It reached over and pressed the cloth firmly against the celebrity's face, covering his mouth and nose. Without any resistance, he passed out.

"Alrighty, Mr. McLean!" It declared, grabbing his body and lifting him out of the bed. "Time to go! Your expenses have already been paid, including your ticket, luggage, and sleeping arrangements."

The figure then let out a sinister cackle as it jumped back out through the hole, grabbed onto the rope, and began climbing back up the way it came.

…

The unconscious celebrity sat hunched over in the wooden chair, legs tied together, and then tied against the legs of the chair. His arms were bound at his sides by the same rope that tied him to the back of the chair. He had a blindfold over his eyes and a gag in his mouth.

And he was still out cold.

"Alrighty, Chris-y! It's showtime!" The figure declared, spinning around to type away rapidly at its state-of-the-art computer console, then gleefully dancing in front of the camera as the small red light flickered on.

"Grrrrrreetings, citizenry of Toronto! This here is the one-and-only Izzy, or Kaleidoscope, or E-Scope, or Explosivo, or Esquire, or Ecstatico, or whatever else I can think of, coming at you live from who-knows-where! And on today's VERY special show…"

…

"…_I have a VERY special guest!"_

"What is going ON?!" Blaineley screamed at the top of her lungs.

"Yeah!" Josh agreed. "Techy nerds, talk to us!" He glared angrily in the direction of the technicians and others involved in the broadcast, who looked back with confused gazes and shrugs.

"It's another signal jamming ours!" One of the technicians reported.

"_None other than the famous, the fabulous, the fantastic Chris…McLean!" Izzy declared, stepping aside and revealing the tied-up host in the chair behind her._

Josh and Blaineley both gasped. "Chris!"

"We can't seem to find the source!" Another underling called out.

"Bad news, guys!" Another one shouted, turning his monitor to face everyone else as he rapidly pressed the "Up 1 channel" button.

…

"It's on EVERY channel!"

The celebrity, in shock, reached for the red phone next to the massive TV in his secret, underground chamber. He pressed the one and only button on the phone, and after two rings, his partner answered.

"Yo, Chris, man."

"Dangit, Pythonicus! I said that on this line, we refer to each other by our alter egos, remember? It's a red phone. It's the Host-Phone! It's our emergency hotline to be used in case of emergency or breaking development of a new mission!"

"Right, right, sorry. Still getting used to this thing, that's all."

"_Here sits arguably the most famous reality TV personality in all of Canada…the man who's brought you so many famous shows, and brought home so many Gemmies as a result."_

"Yeah, sure, whatever. You turned on the TV?"

"I was watching my favorite soap when this nonsense interrupted!" Chef complained. "For that reason alone, I'm out for revenge!"

"Yep! Me too! I need that dummy back so I can fool future obsessive fans with it. You know how expensive those realistic dummies are? Especially the ones with the small vibrator in the neck and wrists to make you think it has a pulse?"

"_And above all else, this is the man who rejected my very numerous and very persistent applications to be on practically every single one of his shows!"_

"Oh, yeah. And I'd very much like to put this one behind bars for good."

"Why's that, Hostman?"

"She's a very psychotic fan of mine. She's made numerous attempts in the past to get onto my biggest shows, and I've constantly rejected her. So this is her idea of sick payback."

"_So over the course of the next few hours, I'll be subjecting him to a series of…'challenges'…reminiscent of some of the greatest shows he's ever done!"_

"'Sick' is an understatement." Chef responded.

"I know. So you need to get over here quickly, Pythonicus! On the double! It won't be long before she discovers that it's just a dummy, and we have to follow the tracking device now while she doesn't know!"

And with that, the now fully-suited-up Hostman hung up the phone.

"_And in case you were all wondering, I'm not looking for money…"_

…

"…I'm not looking for fame, and I'm not looking for glory! Unlike THIS man sitting here! Who I shall soon drop into…"

She then grabbed the camera and turned it slightly to the side, revealing a massive tank of water with several brief flutters of movement across and just below the surface.

"…that tank of piranhas there, after I…"

Another turn of the camera, revealing a long flat board covered in sharp spikes.

"…drag him across those spikes there…"

A camera turn.

"…after I dangle him tauntingly over those blue flames here! MUBWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

She then calmed down and turned the camera straight back towards her, with the tied-up host in the background.

"In exactly five minutes. Why? Because I like knowing that all of you little people out there, including those die-hard fans of his, will be watching helplessly as it counts down here!"

In that moment, a red digital readout of 5:00 appeared in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen, counting down to 4:59, then 4:58.

"And you won't be able to stop me, because this hideout is in a top-secret location, and the single I'm emitting cannot be stopped, jammed, or overridden! Tomorrow, all the newspapers will say that the once-great boy band member, two-time actor, reality show host, and TV personality was tortured and…hehe, _eliminated_, on live, national television! Boy, won't THOSE be some VERY high ratings! Higher than anything YOU could give us, McLean!"

She spun around and started playfully slapping the host's unconscious face back and forth, laughing maniacally the entire time.

…

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are doing everything we can to try and cut off this signal without cutting off our own broadcast." Blaineley reported. "But for some reason, we just can't shut it down!"

"And, once again, we assure you that what you're seeing is not some sort of sick prank or stunt! It's all 150% real!" Josh insisted.

The countdown dropped down to 2:03.

…

"Two more minutes, McLean! And then I'll have my ultimate, totally dramatic revenge in front of the entire viewing world!"

The host was still unconscious.

Izzy frowned, noticeably disapproving of his unconsciousness.

"Come ON! What does it take to wake you up already?! It's no fun torturing you if you're not awake!"

"I couldn't agree more!" A voice declared.

"Huh?!" Izzy spun around.

The two masked figures burst in through a hatch in the floor, entering her secret chamber.

"Wow. You two actually managed to find my secret hideout. I'm impressed!"

"It's in a rather shocking and unusual location, but we'll stop you nonetheless! Unhand McLean!"

"Fat chance! He shot down all of my dozens and dozens of opportunities to become famous! So now I'll shoot down his LIFE!"

"Pythonics, you save McLean. I'll stop her." Hostman declared.

Pythonicus ran around the room, hugging the walls to keep his distance from the psycho.

"Go ahead and try!" She challenged.

Izzy then launched herself at Hostman with a lunging kick, screaming as she flew towards him. He simply ducked, and she flew overhead into a nearby weapons' rack, sending it crashing to the floor with a variety of weapons falling around her.

Hostman spun around and whipped out his tranquilizer gun, disguised as a microphone. He pressed the button on the handle three times, sending three darts her way.

Izzy shook her head off, recovering just in time to leap out of the way. The three darts flew past her and lodged in the wall behind her.

Grabbing the nearest weapon, she charged back towards Hostman. The massive wooden club was held high above her head, several nails sticking out of the top of it.

Hostman leapt up into the air as she swung it sideways towards him. He did a somersault over her head, turned around, and withdrew his grappling gun, disguised as a microphone. He took brief aim as she stopped and turned to face him, firing the hook. It instantly latched onto the stem of the club and shot it out of her hands.

"Augh! No fair!"

She charged straight at him, headbutting him in the chest and knocking him backwards. The grappling gun fell out of his hands.

Pythonicus, meanwhile, was finally approaching the chair that McLean was tied up in, quickly untying the ropes that first bound his torso and arms.

Hostman stumbled backwards as Izzy straightened up, shifting her hands into flat shapes and delivering two swift, simultaneous karate chops to the sides of Hostman's torso, winding him.

As he doubled over, coughing for air, she delivered another swift kick to his chin from underneath, knocking him up into the air and backwards behind him, crashing to the floor.

"So this is it?" She asked rhetorically, glancing back at Pythonicus as he finished untying the ropes binding McLean's feet together and to the chair.

"This is the terrific dynamite duo of Canada? The men who have struck fear into the hearts of all of Canada's criminals, and struck admiration into the hearts of all of Canada's law-abiding citizens…have struck disappointment into the heart of me? You two are so pathetic."

However, as she started walking back towards Pythonicus, she suddenly heard a hissing sound behind her. She couldn't even turn before the green gas suddenly enveloped her, surrounding her and reducing her to a fit of wild coughing.

"Haha! Still got some more tricks up my sleeve! In this case, my Host-gas Gun! Disguised, as per usual, as a microphone. Myself and Pythonicus are immune to it, since we've already taken our shots. They're unique, by the way, since I created this concoction myself!"

As Izzy stumbled backwards and backed up against the wall, she finally managed to hack out a sentence.

"Ack! Not-COUGH! Bad! Hack-how! But…ACK!...You know what-cough what they say!"

She then reached for small, peculiar-looking gun hanging on a hook on the wall next to her.

"Where there's smoke…"

She then took aim at Hostman, whose eyes widened.

"…there's MORE smoke!"

She then fired, and a small canister launched out of the gun and clattered across the floor towards Hostman. He dove out of the way as it burst open, consuming the entire room in a thick grayish-black smoke.

Izzy charged straight into the smoke, searching and swinging wildly.

"Where are you, Hosty? Python? And MCLEAN! I swear, if you fools take him away from me…all of my wrath originally charged at him will be redirected ten-fold onto you clowns! SHOW YOURSELVES!"

But just then, a gut-wrenching sound split through Izzy's eardrums, flying in one ear and shooting out the other. Her hands instantly shot up to her ears, clenching them so tightly her knuckles turned pure white. She roared in agony and fury as she collapsed to her knees.

The smoke cleared, revealing Hostman standing there, yet another microphone in his hand. He slowly closed his mouth and turned to smile at her.

"One of my personal favorites. A voice amplification-distortion-expansion device! Like a regular mic, it not only amplifies the pure volume of my voice, but also increases the pitch to such a degree that it's like a dog whistle, only we can hear it like dogs can! It also severely increases the bass, with the vibrations being powerful enough to send you to your knees! Fortunately, Pythonicus and myself are already equipped with the special earplugs and are, once again, immune!"

He then clipped the microphone back into his belt, reached down, and grabbed Izzy by her collar.

"But enough playing childish games with childish toys." He declared. "Pythonicus! Get him out of here! NOW!"

Pythonicus finished removing the blindfold and the gag. He slumped the unconscious host's body over his shoulder and nodded affirmatively before turning and racing towards the hatch.

"NOOOOO!" Izzy roared. She reached up and, with all her might, socked Hostman twice in rapid succession, with both fists, in the stomach. He slightly bent over, allowing her to throw another punch into his throat. He stumbled backward and crashed into the chair and assortment of ropes.

Izzy dashed up and ran across the room to where her bazooka lay across a table. She snatched it up and barely took time to aim before firing the first rocket.

Pythonicus, already halfway down the hatch, heard the shot. He turned to look as the rocket soared straight at him, let out a quick and girly scream, then ducked down into the hatch with the host. The rocket flew over where his head was a moment earlier, and finally impacted halfway between the open hatch and the nearest wall, creating a small explosion that sent debris flying everywhere.

"LARGH!" She roared, spinning around and aiming the rocket at Hostman as he struggled to get back to his feet again.

He barely had time to dodge as the rocket slammed into the spot where the chair was, destroying the chair and ropes, and creating yet another hole in the floor as debris flew in all directions.

Hostman looked around wildly, trying to think of a plan.

One hatched in his mind just as she finished loading the next rocket.

With no time to lose, he dashed across the room, past the burning flames, towards the piranha pit.

"You can run, but you can't unexplode!" She declared as she fired her third rocket.

Hostman dove out of the way at the last second as the rocket soared past him and slammed into the side of the tank, blowing it open with shards of wood, metal, plastic, and glass. But above all else, the massive amount of water blew out in a waterfall that instantly spread and covered the entire area. The water flow was more than enough to douse all of the deadly blue flames nearby, and it also sent its deadly, jaw-snapping payload spreading across the floor of the entire chamber.

"AUGH! My babies! My little fishies!"

Hostman quickly ran around to avoid the flow of water and deadly fish, heading towards the plank covered in spikes and quickly kneeling down to grab one end of it.

"You'll pay for that, Hostman!" Izzy roared.

Dropping the bazooka, she grabbed two of the nearest piranhas and hurled them at him, both snapping fish barely flying past his head.

Still struggling with the task at hand, he began to lift up on the plank, raising it up so that the spikes were sticking straight out horizontally on one side, while he hid behind the other side. Izzy charged at him as he lifted it, realizing at the last moment that he was raising it as a deadly shield.

Hostman cringed as he heard her battle cry cut off suddenly, still flying towards the spikes.

He stood motionless behind the platform for a few seconds, wondering if he had succeeded.

But just then, Izzy leapt up over the plank and appeared right in front of Hostman. With a quick jab forward with her open, flat palm, she smacked him right in the chest and sent him and the plank toppling over, the spikes now shoved harmlessly into the floor below them, out of the way of immediate danger. It also allowed for the platform to be raised slightly out of the water to keep both of them away from the piranhas flopping around.

Izzy was now crouched on top of Hostman, delivering one swift punch after the other. After about half a dozen blows, Hostman kicked up as powerfully as he could with both legs, sending her flipping up and off him, flying across the floor where she rolled to a stop in the water and spun around.

But by that point, one of the piranhas had already found what it was looking for.

With a slight chomping sound, Izzy's eyes widened in pain.

"EEEEEEYYYYYYYAAAAAAAOOOOOOUUUUUUUGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH H!" She screamed as she frantically tried to peel the piranha off her backside as carefully as possible, just as another one latched onto her hand.

"Ack! OH! EYOW! Oh, you think you're REEL funny, don't you, HostmaAAAOOOWWW!"

Just as she finally managed to peel both of the deadly fish off, she turned and saw that Hostman was already dashing for the staircase leading up and out of the water-filled chamber.

With a growl, she charged out after him.

…

Hostman emerged outside the chamber, and after putting aside his fear from the previous fight, had to swallow a whole new fear when he remembered where he was.

The wind whipped at his face as he slowly climbed out onto the roof of the highest structure in the entire Western Hemisphere: The skypod of the CN Tower.

He slowly walked towards the edge, and already he could see a vast majority of the city below him.

"Quite a view, eh?" The voice behind him remarked.

He spun around to face his opponent.

"Quite clever, I say." Hostman replied. "Your base being located on top of the CN Tower? No wonder that signal could be so easily broadcast to all of Toronto, and all of Canada, without the threat of interruption as long as you were undiscovered!"

"Why thank you, Hostman. I know the location's right out of Dr. Evil's handbook, but it was still one heck of a challenge getting it all up here in the first place."

Her smile then slowly disappeared, replaced by obvious anger.

"But then you and your friend ruined it!"

And before he could back away, she flew leg-first at him once again, hitting him straight in the head and knocking him backward, landing on the concrete face-first.

The evil figure behind him laughed maniacally. "At least it results in this fitting end for you! I'll defeat you in full view of the very city you and your friend fought to protect! And once I'm done with you, I'll hunt down your little sidekick and the one you stole from me. Rest assured, Hostman…"

She then knelt down and grabbed him by the collar.

"…no one messes with Izzy and avoids getting dizzy! HEHEHEHEHEHE!"

She then spun Hostman around and grabbed his ankle, beginning to spin around slowly, spinning Hostman around in a continuous circle. He struggled to maintain his complexion as he spun faster and faster, squeezing his eyes shut to avoid getting dizzy.

But eventually, what he knew was coming finally happened: She released his foot.

In a split second, he felt himself flying through the air. And he knew, with his proximity to the edge when she hit him, that he wouldn't be landing on the relative safety of the roof.

Thinking fast, he whipped out his grapple gun and took aim, firing towards the roof as he continued falling at an angle.

To his horror, the hook was stopped in mid-air when Izzy snatched the cable, halting its forward projection and letting the limp hook swing down from her clenched fist. With a devious grin, she raised it high above her head, preparing to throw it down and doom Hostman to fall.

However, Hostman's descent was suddenly halted right then and there when he landed on the wing of passing plane. He slammed against the metal and rolled over, frantically gripping the sleek surface of it as he struggled to stay on top of it.

In an instant, Izzy realized that her opponent was saved by a miracle, and that he was getting away. She quickly grabbed onto the hook with both hands now and waited as the cable extended with the plane flying further away, and held on as it yanked her off the top of the tower and towards Hostman.

Hostman, still struggling to maintain his own grip on the plane's wing, didn't even think twice as the weight on the other end of his grapple gun suddenly increased and yanked it out of his hand before he could do anything else.

He then heard the gut-wrenching scream from down below.

"NNNNNNNYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Hostman, realizing the one and only possible source of the scream, tried to crawl over to the edge of the wing to watch her fall, but by the time he made it and peeked over the side, he could see absolutely no sign of the girl or the grapple gun.

As the implication slowly and painfully sank in, he hung his head as he fought back the tears at the terrible loss.

He sniffed. "No…it can't be…my beautiful grappling gun."

"Oh, don't worry."

He gasped and spun around to see the delightfully psychotic redhead standing on the wing right behind him, twirling the gun around her fingers.

"I've got it right here."

Then, in a single instant, she tossed it effortlessly backwards over her shoulder, and the gun plunged down to the ground hundreds of feet below.

His eyes widened in anger. "NOOOOOO!"

Hostman leapt to his feet.

"It's a good thing we're coming in at such a low altitude." She quipped. "It allows us to get a pretty solid footing on here…enough to duke it out one final time. So as the punks like to say…"

She then spread out her legs, bending her knees in the firm fighting stance. She slowly held one arm out, palm facing towards her, and bent her fingers down twice.

"Come at me, bro!"

Hostman roared and leapt at her, only for her to duck under him and heave her head up into his stomach just as he flew over her, knocking him straight up and throwing him to the side. He slammed down onto the wing and rolled across it, stopping just a few feet from the plane's fuselage.

"Too easy." She murmured as she slowly approached him.

As Hostman struggled to prop himself up, she was upon him. She placed a single foot down onto his back and thrust him back down against the cold metal effortlessly.

"Like giving candy to a baby, and then taking it."

She then slowly reached behind herself and withdrew one final item from her skirt.

Hostman couldn't see it, but he could hear the small, quick, and deadly _shink_ of a switchblade being extended, accompanied by the beginning of a devilish chuckle.

"But like candy and a baby, that doesn't mean I won't enjoy myself!"

She then slowly raised the knife up above her, preparing to end it all.

With one final heave, Hostman shoved his entire body straight up, lifting her foot off of him and throwing her off-balance.

"Wh-whoa!"

She stumbled and fell right back onto her backside on the wing. In that brief moment, Hostman shot up to his feet, spun around, and grabbed her by the collar this time. As he raised her up, she raised the knife once again.

But as she swung it down, Hostman effortlessly swiped a hand up and knocked it out of her hand with the sudden collision of both hands' momentum. He then brought the fist back down around again to deliver one final blow directly to her jaw just as he released her, sending her flying backwards right off the wing.

She plunged down to the water below, screaming the entire way down until she crashed through the surface of the Toronto Bay.

Hostman stood silently on the wing, staring down at the water where she had landed as the plane slowly came in for a landing on the runway of the Toronto Islands.

No sign of her ever emerged from the depths.

…

Chris and Chef clinked their two glasses of champagne together as the newest story on the news came to a close on the TV.

"…and the police stormed and shut down her base, located on top of our very own CN Tower. And thus ended the dramatic duel between Hostman and his latest foe, the kidnapper and would-be torture of reality TV personality Chris McLean. Though her true identity remains shrouded in mystery, the true mystery of tonight may be the question of whether or not she survived her encounter with the masked hero." Blaineley finished.

"Fortunately, Chris McLean was returned safely to his mansion, courtesy of Pythonicus." Josh added happily. "He had this statement to say."

The footage from Chris's earlier press conference was then replayed.

"_I can't imagine how traumatic that would've been. I mean, seriously. If I had been awake during any of that, I would've flipped out five seconds in. Fortunately, my beauty sleep keeps me out cold every night, and Hostman and Pythonicus rescued me before I could wake up. So I want to give a big shout-out and thanks to them, and all of my fans who were praying for my safe and unharmed return."_

"_Mr. McLean!" One reporter shouted. "Will you be considering new security upgrades in the wake of this incident?"_

"_Of course!"_

"Really?" Chef asked in real time with a raised eyebrow.

"Nah." The real-time Chris replied. "I'll just stick with the Trojan Chris technique of the dummy with the tracking device in it. Let's see how many more sickos we can capture, beat the snot out of, and throw in jail with that one."

They both shared a good laugh for a few seconds, but stopped when the feed showing Blaineley and Josh was suddenly cut off by a burst of loud static.

"Huh?"

Then, after a few seconds of static, the feed cut back to a dark silhouette with an all-too familiar voice.

"_I may be down now, I may be out of equipment, and I may be out of a base of operations, but rest assured…or unassured, I should say…I will absolutely not stop. I could care less about McLean now, though that doesn't mean he's any safer. I now have brand new targets: The masked, spandex-wearing duo of Hostman and Pythonicus. Consider this an official declaration of war from your brand new archrival: I. Am. Coming. For. You."_

And then the feed was cut off, and returned to Josh and Blaineley as if nothing had happened.

Chris and Chef, eyes wide and smiles gone, slowly turned to look at each other.

Both looked back at the TV, and gulped nervously.

**Author's Note: And there you have it. Izzy: Hostman and Pythonicus's Joker. I'll try to make her the most recurring villain, but in case that doesn't come through, just think of her as a solid parody of Mark Hamill's Joker. At least that's how I'll always imagine her whenever I think of her jokes and laughs. She's already definitely most like the Joker in her own right.**

**And for the first time, we have more than one person get the right answer: nightmaster000, The house master, and PS2wizard, who all guessed Izzy. Congratulations!**

**Next episode: Multiple villains, all contained in one form.**


	6. Five-Face Part I

Five-Face Part I

"There it goes! FREEZE!"

The figure dashed through the dark halls of the mall, shoving the shopping cart along with all of the contraband – including a cane, sleeping pills, makeup, and a ballerina's outfit – inside, and ducking and weaving through all of the onslaught of bullets.

"Freeze! Hold it right there in the name of the la-AUGH!"

The figure after giving the cart an extra shove of momentum, leapt into the air with incredible agility, and swiftly delivered a flying kick to the officer's face, knocking him flat to the floor. It leapt right up over his body, landed perfectly behind where the cart was still rolling, and grabbed onto the handles to continue pushing.

It dashed around the corner, weaving in between various kiosks, stands, aisles, and other objects and obstructions to throw the cops off its trail.

It glanced back as the yells and shots eventually grew softer and softer, dying down as it gained more and more speed and distance.

It turned back in the direction it was going, with a devious grin on its face.

"No one can outrun, outjump, or outmaneuver Svetlana!" It declared in a rather feminine and foreign voice.

It then passed by an aisle of suntan lotion, hair gel, and steroids. With a single swipe of the arm, it grabbed a large sample of each and tossed them into the cart as well.

A sudden gasp and bulging of the eyes.

"And no one can deprive Vito of his beauty tools, yeah?"

Another gasp and eye bulge.

"Now off to find the power tools and survival equipment!" An Australian accent declared.

It ran through one of the large archways in the mall, entering a section that was merely labeled "Manly Stuff."

It now found itself running through a variety of lawnmowers, chainsaws, barbecues, hiking backpacks, boots, pickaxes, and many other items similar to them.

It slowed down, now realizing that the cops were long gone, and casually strolled past the barbecue display, including the few already plugged-in barbecues that served as examples in action. Their pilot lights were still burning.

But just then, the figure detected another presence in the room. It spun around just in time to see the new person leap from the top of one aisle shelf to another, perched 15 feet above the thief.

"The mall's closed, buddy."

The criminal assumed a defensive stance. "Ah, Hostman. I was wondering if I'd ever get the chance to meet you."

"Sorry, but I'm not handing out autographs right now."

"You'll be lucky if you ever get to after tonight!"

The figure then reached into its belt and withdrew a whip, cracking it once in a threatening manner.

The perched Hostman responded by reaching into his own belt and whipping out a flashlight, with the bulb on top of the head of a microphone. He turned the knob to "Brights" and hit the gray button above the knob.

The massive beam shone down onto the figure, temporarily blinding him and allowing Hostman to get a good look.

He was a younger man, tall, slender, and dark-skinned. He was wearing a pair of black pants, a black, long-sleeved shirt, black leather gloves, and a black mask, covering him from his feet up to his head. Only his eyes, nose, and the upper half of his face were visible through the mask. Hostman caught a fleeting glimpse of the exposed area of his dark-skinned face before he covered his eyes with one arm.

"Crikey! Brighter than the sun, that is!"

He then aimed blindly and cracked his whip upward in Hostman's direction. It successfully wrapped around Hostman's ankle, and he gave a jerk on the whip. Hostman was yanked down off of the shelf, crashing to the floor as the flashlight flew out of his hands and rolled right up right to the criminal's feet.

The criminal straightened up, now able to look directly at his caped adversary, though with spots still dancing in front of him. With a single, casual move, he brought one foot down on the flashlight and crushed it, plunging the area back into near-darkness. Only the moon shining through several skylights allowed some visibility.

"Nice try there, mate. But it won't do you no good."

The figure then cracked his whip again, lashing it around Hostman's arm and yanking him closer. He delivered a swift left hook with his spare hand, sending Hostman tumbling backward just as the whip released his arm.

Hostman was now sitting on the ground, dazed from the blow. His foe readied the whip once again.

"I could do this all day, mate! You're no match for Manitoba Smith!"

Thinking fast, Hostman drew his grappling gun and fired just as Smith cracked his whip. The result was a draw, as the hook of Hostman's grappling gun latched onto the tip of Smith's whip.

"What the heck?!" Hostman exclaimed as he stood up.

"What in the blazes?!" Smith exclaimed similarly.

Both men now found themselves tugging back and forth on their respective weapons, determined to not give in to the other.

For a while, it was simply a game of tug-of-war as both men jerked back and forth, the long extension of the whip and the grappling gun's cable serving as the combined rope between them.

Hostman then glared up at his foe across the way, and his foe glared back at him.

Hostman then grinned as he got an idea. However, due to the mask over the lower half of his face, the criminal's matching grin as he got the same idea wasn't visible to Hostman.

Both then released their ends simultaneously. The handle of the whip flew forward in Hostman's direction while the grappling gun flew forward in Smith's direction.

Both could only stare in shock as their respective adversaries' weapons flew at them. The handle of the whip struck Hostman right in the face and sent him stumbling backwards just as the grappling gun itself struck the crook right in the face, causing him to stumble backward. While Hostman eventually tumbled to the floor, Smith put one arm out and managed to break his fall by grabbing onto the nearest display barbecue grill behind him, his hand coming down on one of the temperature knobs and inadvertently turning it all the way up to maximum heat. The flames under the metal bars grew larger and brighter, and the low roar of the heat could be heard.

The criminal recovered and spun around to face Hostman, who was also recovering and standing up. They leapt at each other simultaneously and tackled each other in mid-air. They fell to the floor and rolled around as they each exchanged punches.

Eventually, Smith was on top of Hostman, delivering one swift punch after the other with a cocky "Ya!" after every hit.

Hostman, after sustaining several punches, raised both hands in flat, karate-like shapes and slammed them together on both sides of the crook's head at the same time. Smith shouted out in pain as he instantly stood up and stumbled backwards, clutching his head in pain. Hostman sprung to his feet and delivered two rapid punches: one to the gut to make him bend over, and the second to his face while he was doubled over, sending him reeling back even further.

Hostman raced up to the reeling villain and prepared another punch. The thief straightened up and tried to throw his own punch, only for Hostman to catch his fist in mid-air and twist it around. He groaned in pain just as Hostman thrust his knee into his gut, causing him to double over again. He gasped in pain, gasped for air…

…and gasped with a bulge of the eyes.

Mike looked around frantically, eventually looking right up into the black, expressionless eyes of the masked, caped vigilante who was, quite literally, strong-arming him.

"What the?! What's going on?!"

"You're about to get your butt handed to you, that's what's going on!"

"WAIT!"

But before Mike could say anything further, Hostman reeled back and slammed his fist directly into Mike's face as he stood up, knocking him right off his feet and sending him flying backwards. As Mike stumbled to regain his footing, he spun around once just in time to see what he was flying towards as he started to fall straight forward.

One of the display barbecues, the knob turned all the way up, flames burning just underneath the metal bars, and steam rising out of it.

"NOOOOOOOOO!"

Already falling over, it was too late for him to stop it. He fell, face-first, right on top of the hot vertical bars. A sickening hissing sound could be heard as white steam rose up even faster as a result of the flesh meeting hot metal. Combined with that, the impact of his entire body against the barbecue caused it to jerk back once, then fall forward into place once again, enough momentum for the lid to fall over and slam shut.

The following screams from within the barbecue were horrendous, even for Hostman. Agony, pain, suffering, confusion, and shock all meeting at once as his arms and legs flailed around helplessly. All the while, his face was still right up against the bars, the hissing continuing and the steam still rising.

Hostman cringed in pain as he realized what he had just done. "Yeesh!"

But just then, the screams stopped on a dime, and his limbs all fell limp.

"Oooooh…whoops."

Glancing side-to-side nervously, he slowly and awkwardly backed away. He knelt down quickly to retrieve his grappling gun, detaching it from the whip before retracting the cable and slipping it back into his belt. He then disappeared between two aisles.

After a few seconds, with the weight of Mike's entire body pulling against it, the lid popped open just enough to allow his head to fall back out before closing again. Mike fell back against the floor, seemingly unconscious…

"I heard noises coming from in here!"

"This way!"

"_Crikey! They're coming! Get up, mate! NOW!"_

"_You weak little punk! Move your sorry keister now or I'll do it for ya!"_

"_You'll come in last place, my darling! Get a move on!"_

"_Hey, punk! You trying to take us down with ya, or what?!"_

"_Silence, all of you. I'LL get him moving again…"_

…

Hostman slipped in through the window, shutting it behind him as he dashed across the room towards the stairs leading down into the "Host-Cave."

As he walked down the stairs, he lifted off his cowl, shaking his head briefly and taking a deep breath.

"First time going solo, and I let the guy get fried." Chris muttered. "Darn it! He could've been a really good adversary…though still easy enough to beat again and again! Ugh…Chef's definitely not gonna hear about this."

He landed in the chair before all of the monitors and control boards, reaching over to turn on the police radio.

"7-8-5, Code 6…"

He switched it over a few channels.

"All units, contraband has been recovered. Whip was found on the floor near an activated barbecue. No sign of the suspect, over."

Chris's eyes widened.

…

The figure stumbled blindly through the darkened streets, across lawns, down sidewalks, over fences, under streetlights, behind trees, until it finally reached the house.

It struggled with pulling the keys out of its pocket, fumbling to find the right one and insert it into the lock.

The key chain clattered to the porch, and the figure slowly bent down to pick them up. It fumbled with them once more, finally fitting it into the lock and turning it violently. It threw the door open and stumbled inside, constantly moving back and forth between the walls on either side of the hallway for support as it slowly moved towards the bathroom.

Once inside, it flipped on the light switch and dashed over to the sink, bending over as it turned the cold water onto full blast. After ripping off its mask, it slowly took handfuls of water and splashed it over his face, taking long, deep gasps of breath after every one. The water ran down his face, dripping off his nose and chin, occasionally dripping down to soak the top of his black shirt. It then took one final handful of water and splashed it in his face for the fifth time as he slowly straightened up, slowly opening his eyes to finally look at his reflection.

A single long, deep, agonized, guttural scream resulted, and his first instinct was to slam both fists furiously against the mirror, shattering it. The cracks in the mirror aligned almost perfectly with the four perfectly straight, vertical scorch marks on his face that split his entire face into five sections.

"My…my f….my face…"

"No. _Our_ face_s_."

Mike slowly lifted his head and stared back at his broken reflection. He was certain this time that the voice hadn't come from his own mouth, and what he now saw in the mirror was even more disturbing.

It was his face, only with an obvious difference in addition to the burn marks. There were dark circles around his eyes, and some of his hair was combed down neatly over his face to cover his left eye entirely. He instinctively reached up to touch his left eye, and felt no hair in front of it despite what he saw in the mirror.

"What…what is this? Who are you? I've never seen you or heard your voice before…"

"I'm a conglomerate. A culmination. I've been building up inside you for years, feeding off the torment you faced from others ever since you were a kid in elementary school. Feeding off the negative energy in order to become a personification of everything that made you suffer. Old Duncan and his goons were especially invigorating for me. But this recent encounter has finally given me the strength I've been needing to break free."

"Please…I have more than enough on my mind right now; don't remind me of things like that again!"

"Oh, don't worry. You won't have to worry about a lot on your mind…because soon, you won't have a mind! You'll belong to me. And the rest of us."

"What do you mean?!" He screamed, pressing both hands against the broken mirror. One disheveled piece was jutting straight out when he slammed his hand against it, but he didn't even feel the pain, nor the warm flow slowly trickling down his palm.

"Look at yourself. You have five different spaces. Five faces. There's room for five on the outside and the inside. But now, since I've finally emerged from the shadows, there's six of us here. You obviously can't fit six people into a five-person show. So one of us must go."

Then the reflection changed. One of his eyes squinted shut, and his lips curled inward in a wrinkly fashion.

"And it ain't me! I've been here for years more than any of you, and I'm gonna be here for several more years!"

Then the hair on top of his head suddenly slicked back, and his face gained a cocky grin.

"And I ain't goin' nowhere either, bub!"

Then another change to a sly, confident smirk.

"I've endured archeological expeditions worse than this! I can handle it!"

Then extended eyelashes and lipstick.

"Just because I'm not promised another medal doesn't mean I'm quitting!"

Then back to the face where one eye was covered.

"So you see? That's five of us who are strong enough and determined enough to stay. And only one who is too weak to press on."

"No! I can't…YOU can't!"

"Watch me." The face replied, devolving into a low, devious cackle.

"Stop…"

"Just relax." It replied between laughs. "You don't need any arms around you."

"Stop."

The laughing continued as the face slowly dissolved into a single dark shadow.

"You don't need anything at all. Just relax…"

Mike could now feel another liquid rolling down his skin, only this one was coming from his eyes as it rolled down his cheeks.

"Stop!"

"Nothing matters anymore. Just relax…go to sleep."

"STOP!"

Mike then raised both fists, including the cut one, and slammed them against the mirror again and again, raining down his anger on the one thing that kept reminding him what he was…what he always would be now.

He slammed his fists down now against the sink, slamming them against the porcelain where the brief bit of red dripped down and mixed with the continued rushing water, swirling around in the sink along with the brief bit of foam. Several pieces of glass broke free and fell into the sink as well, swirling around the drain even though they were too big to fit and fall through.

Mike then thrust his hands forward, clinging to the sides of his head in pain and determination as he could feel something coming over him. Something large, heavy, dark, and powerful. It was as if a train was coming straight at him, and he was standing helplessly motionless and motionlessly helpless on the tracks. Just as loud, just as large, just as terrifying…but slowly.

He then started gasping, though without changing. He gasped once, then again, then again, then again, then a fifth time. It was almost as if he couldn't breathe. He felt everything growing fuzzy and faded. Spots began dancing in front of him, the bathroom around him was swirling like a whirlpool, colors began changing and mixing, a bright light began to overwhelm everything…and then it changed into sudden blackness, with deafening silence.

Mike lost the battle without even a single scream.

As the new personality took over, slowly straightening up and grinning evilly at the broken mirror with one eye, he barely even heard as Mike's cell phone on the nightstand out in the hall rang five times.

Then the message began to play.

"_Hey! Mike Makowski here. Sorry I can't answer the phone right now, but I'm unavailable for whatever reason. So just leave me a quick message and I'll be sure to get back to you ASAP. You know what to do, just wait for the bee-*gasp*."_

After a few seconds, a beep could be heard. It was then followed by a sweet, soft voice.

"_Hey, Mike. It's me. Um, I called you once before…about five hours ago. You didn't answer, so I figured I'd wait a bit. I hope you're not already asleep, but…yeah, I was just calling to make sure we're still good for tomorrow night? I'm really looking forward to it. I promise you, Fabrizi's is a wonderful Italian restaurant. Heh, heh…Vito might like it, right? Anyway. Just at least shoot me a text if you get this message, OK? Thanks. I love you…Bye."_

The new individual had by now been standing right next to the table, staring at the phone as the voice came over it. When the click on the other end could be heard, it slowly reached down and pressed the "home" button on the front.

In front of the usual wallpaper image of the beautiful redhead was a small reminder in white text: "Missed Call + Voicemail: Zoey"

Without even a single thought, the hand that held the phone slowly squeezed down until it broke the device with a final spark of electricity.

A slight grin appeared.

"Yes." He said to himself. "I am finally in control."

The figure dropped the ruined phone to the floor, stepping on it and crushing it even further as it turned and slowly walked into Mike's room, holding the mask in one hand. He looked carefully at the scorch marks that were even visible on the mask, matching the scorch marks on the face that had been wearing it at the time.

He tossed it onto the bed and slowly leaned in close to the mirror on his nightstand, inspecting the dividing lines between the five different portions of his face.

"The mask and the real thing are one now." He commented. "Why should I hide what I really am? Looks like I've got some work to do."

He then began opening one drawer after the other, frantically pulling out some bottles of makeup, some tanning lotion, some hair gel, some lipstick and eyeliner, and a razor, among others.

"Once my transformation is complete, I shall begin my new reign of terror. All will face the wrath of the unleashed me. The new kid on the block. And what better way to start with targeting the one person whom my feeble predecessor valued most?"

He glanced with scorn at the picture that was taped to the mirror, with the friendly, beautiful face smiling back at him.

He ripped it off and crumpled it in his hand effortlessly, dropping it to the floor.

"And to kill two birds with one stone, I'll use her as bait to draw in another. After all, what better way to thank the one who allowed me to break free? The one called Hostman."

It then raised the makeup first, carefully applying some eyeliner around a portion of his right eye, which fell entirely into one of the five sections, as well as the right end of his lips.

When that was done, one-fifth of his face was wearing makeup, eyeliner, lipstick, and with extended eyelashes.

He then reached for the tanning lotion and the hair gel.

"But sooner or later…they will all feel the wrath of…Five-Face."

**To be continued…**

**Author's Note: This is probably one of the top chapters I've been looking forward to the most, readers! One of my favorite TDR characters, and probably one of my favorite villains in this story.**

**And yes, there may or may not be more two-part episodes in this story. But not many.**

**And although this is only Part I out of II, the next episode will _not_ be Part II. The next chapter will be a rather brief intermission from the Five-Face storyline, if you will, featuring the return of a previously-seen character and the appearance of another one-time villain in this story.**

**So next chapter's hint: When two evil people fall in love, what could _possibly_ go wrong?**


	7. Love Hurts

Love Hurts

"No, don't be ridiculous! I love you more, and we both know that."

"But I'm the only one here who knows what we're both thinking, and we're both thinking that I love you more."

"Just because you're the one dominating the relationship doesn't mean…"

A few seats down, Chris was downing his fourth glass of champagne as he tried to blur out the lovebirds sitting just a few seats down.

He groaned as his latest attempt was just as unsuccessful.

"What's the matter, Chris man?" Chef asked.

"OK, Alejandro's my friend and all, and his _lovely_ girlfriend has been on a couple of my shows and all…but I can't stand it when they're together. They're the most love-obsessed, each-other-obsessed lovebirds on this side of the Atlantic!"

"Daw, I think it's sweet, man." Chef replied with a chuckle. "Young love, you know? I once knew a love like that…"

"As annoying as that one?"

"…no, it's not possible for us to love each other equally. One _has_ to dominate this relationship in every aspect!"

"…I wish." Chef muttered.

"How much longer do we have to be here, anyway?" Chris complained. "What exactly is this dinner for? It's not exactly a fundraiser, Josh made that very clear."

"…oh, excuse me, my honey bee. I'll be right back."

And with that, the suave Spaniard carefully lifted Heather up off of his lap and set her down in the next seat. He scooted his own chair back and stood up, walking around several more seats until he stood behind his host friend.

"Chris?"

"Yes, Alejandro?" The host turned halfway in his seat, not actually looking at his friend.

"I was hoping I could speak to you for just a moment?"

"Uh, sure…"

Chris then scooted his chair back and slowly stood up, following his young friend around the table towards the door leading out of the room.

"Hey, hey! Where you guys going? The dessert's about to arrive!" Josh called after them.

"Not to worry, my host." Alejandro replied. "We'll be back in just a moment!"

The two celebrities then walked around the corner into the dark hallway.

"What is it, Al?"

"I was hoping I could ask for your advice on…something important."

"And what might be?"

"Um…I know it's something I should've asked for help on in advance, but…"

He reached into his pocket and quickly withdrew a small black case.

Chris recognized it instantly, and his eyes widened.

"Whoa! No way!"

"SHHHHH!" Alejandro shushed with a firm finger against Chris's lips. "The idea of a proposal is to surprise her!" He reminded Chris.

"So…" Chris whispered back. "After 3 years, you're finally gonna ask her."

"Yep! I'm more than ready…except for how I pop the question."

"You're asking me for advice on proposing? You know I've never been married."

"But you've had plans in mind for how to propose…once."

At the mention of the past trauma, Chris's head sunk. "Yeah…a long time ago…and never again."

"But I'm sure it _would've_ been a fantastic proposal." Alejandro reassured him, with a hand on his shoulder. "Now I need advice on how I should do it. Ring in the glass? Make a grand announcement? Pull her aside privately?"

"No, no, and _no_. One: She might end up swallowing it. Two: That puts public pressure on her to say yes just because she's in front of other people. And three: If you want it to be a private matter, why pull her aside at a social gathering? What if she says no in private? Then you two have to sit next to each other awkwardly for the rest of the dinner."

"Hmm….good point, good point, and _very_ good point."

"You really should've thought this through, you know…"

"Yeah." Alejandro pocketed the ring. "The only other person who knows is Josh…which is exactly what this whole dinner is for, actually."

"What?! You're insane!"

"SHHHHH!" He hushed once again.

Chris whispered, still with clear scorn in his voice. "You're insane! Why would you arrange a dinner like this if you're not sure how you're gonna propose?"

"Again…I wasn't thinking it through clearly enough."

Now completely ashamed, Alejandro brushed past Chris and walked back into the dining room, slumping back down in his seat next to his girlfriend.

"What is it, Al?" She asked with a slight hint of concern.

"Nothing…nothing…"

He then slowly reached over for his glass and took a long sip.

…

Dessert had been served, a majority of the plates were cleared, and the only people left were Josh, Blaineley, Chris, Chef, Alejandro, and Heather.

"Uh! Man!" Blaineley exclaimed. "I could eat cake all night long!"

"Yes, we know." Josh replied sarcastically. "Good thing there are no cameras to see your bloated beauty."

Blaineley responded with a rather unkind gesture.

"Alright, alright. All the cake is gone anyway, so I think it's time for you to leave now. I'll walk you to your car."

Josh stood up out of his seat and grabbed Blaineley's wrist, guiding the full and tired cohost up and out of her seat, and leading her out of the room.

Chef turned to Chris, who glanced back as the two hosts walked out of the room.

A few seats behind them, Heather, now clearly full and also exhausted, was leaning against Alejandro's shoulder, arms around him.

However, she soon straightened up and stretched her arms into the air with a long yawn.

"Oh, I'm so tired, honey…I think I'm gonna go now."

She slowly stood up, leaning over to give Alejandro a long kiss before she walked around the table and out of the room, leaving only the three men all on one side of the long table.

Alejandro glanced over at his host friend a few seats down, who simply glanced back with a shrug.

Alejandro stared at his nearly-empty wine glass, with only a minimal amount of champagne left. He stared as the bubbles rapidly rose from the bottom, fizzling at the top…

…several hours after it was poured.

Chris couldn't help but notice the way the wine continued to bubble.

"Um, Al?"

"Yeah, Chris?"

"Did you just pour yourself some more champagne?"

"No…this is only my second glass. I filled it about…"

He then finally noticed the oddity with the bubbles, and set the glass down suddenly in shock.

"…a few hours ago?"

But just then, he suddenly gasped and jerked backward in his seat, his arms cringing up beside him as he suddenly started gasping and gargling.

Chris and Chef were on their feet in an instant, racing over to him.

"Al? AL!"

He then flipped backwards entirely, the chair falling to the floor as he continued making wild noises.

"What the heck's happening?!" Chef cried.

Just then, Alejandro went completely limp and blacked out.

"Just as I thought!" Chris declared. He turned to Chef. "We don't have much time. Pick him up and let's go!"

Chris jumped up and swiped the glass still containing a little bit of champagne.

"We're gonna take him to the hospital ourselves?" Chef asked as he threw the unconscious Alejandro over his shoulder.

"No! Too far away! I know a better and closer place to take him."

"Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure, just get to the car!" Chris called back as he ran out of the room, Chef behind him.

Just then, Josh came back in through the front door. When he saw his host friend dashing towards him, he moved aside and allowed Chris to barge out, carefully holding a wine glass.

"What the?! Chris! Where you going in such a hurry?!"

"No time to explain, Josh!"

"And what are you doing with one of my wine glasses?!"

"Like I said, no time to explain! I'll bring it back eventually!"

Scratching his head, Josh turned to walk back inside…

…only for Chef to barrel through and knock him over with a "Whoa!" followed by an "Oof!" as he hit the ground.

"What the heck?! Chef! What's happening here?! And what's up with Alejandro?"

"He…had a little too much to drink." Chef replied flatly as he arrived at the limousine, opening the backdoor and tossing Alejandro in alongside Chris, who was already inside.

"But…he only had two drinks." Josh commented blankly as he stood up and brushed himself off.

"Never mind it! Thanks for the dinner!" Chef replied as he climbed frantically into the driver's seat, starting up the car.

The limo screeched into reverse, spun around, and raced out of the gates of Josh's mansion, leaving the tabloid host scratching his head and muttering to himself in confusion.

…

Alejandro was strapped to the gurney, three long black straps holding him down across the chest, the waist, and the ankles. A single blindfold was placed around his eyes, and his chest rose and fell slowly as his breathing reached a normal pace once again.

"Man, I can't believe it actually worked!" Chef commented with a swipe of his brow as he carefully set the needle down on the tray next to the sleeping teen.

"I recognized the mannerisms of the drink and the immediate effects on Alejandro could've come from only one particular poison." Chris explained as he typed away furiously on the master computer.

Soon, an image of a small brown vial with a massive X on it appeared on the screen.

"Hyposinglecia." Chris replied.

"Hydro-what-now?" Chef asked with wide eyes.

"It's a poison that was concocted out of white wine, vinegar, some rare grains of wheat from Algeria, and a variety of other ingredients, all for the purpose of being used on…"

More typing.

Then the logo of one of his most recognizable shows came on.

"_What Goes Down Must Come Up_?" Chef questioned. "That show where the contestants had to constantly eat the nastiest stuff without retching?"

"Exactly. Not exactly one of my biggest successes, but it did spawn several new dastardly creations for the contestants to eat."

"Including a lethal poison?" Chef remarked with a raised eyebrow.

Chris spun around in his chair. "Hyposinglecia is lethal only in a significant dose." He defended. "A tiny, teaspoon-sized dose will only induce vomiting in all save for the strongest of steel stomachs. But it was heavily advised and reminded that a dose too large _could_ be lethal…a dose like the one that was put in Alejandro's drink."

Chris walked over to the glass in question, the fizzing liquid still within.

"It's a good thing I always kept a series of antidotes and treatments for my past concoctions handy right here in the Host-Cave."

"Aw, man!" Chef commented as he facepalmed. "Really? The 'Host-Cave'? Really? It's not even a cave! This is just a very large basement that you never even used until now!"

"I'm calling it the Host-Cave, OK? I'm Hostman here, this is my mansion, and this is my cave, so I'm calling it the Host-Cave, got it?"

Chef grumbled to himself.

"Anyway…back to the matter at hand. The antidote cured Alejandro, but we haven't been able to figure out who did it."

"Well, obviously it was someone at the party." Chef deduced.

"Correct, my man. But what can be done to narrow it down even further? Cross-reference all who were at my party with those who were on or somewhat involved with _What Goes Down Must Come Up_. Contestants, producers, set designers, everyone!"

Chris then returned to the computer and began frantically typing.

"But how are we supposed to catch them, exactly? What are we gonna do to say that we figured out that they tried to poison a celebrity at a party that Hostman and Pythonicus weren't even at to begin with?"

"We'll take Alejandro to the hospital and tell them that he's passed out. The sedative effects of the antidote will make him appear to be passed out due to alcohol, so they'll surely take him in for one night. We'll inform several of the key people at the party, such as host Josh and Al's fi…ancy girlfriend, Heather." Chris caught himself quickly. "And anyone else who will appear as associated with the show. Whichever one is the culprit, upon finding out that Alejandro survived, will probably stop by to finish the job."

"Wasn't Josh one of the executive producers on that show anyway?" Chef commented.

"Yes, actually. So there's one…"

Chris continued typing.

"But we'll need the full guest roster. Pick up that phone and dial Josh's number. Tell him I want to talk to him, and if he's able to talk, put it on speaker."

"Gotcha."

Chef picked up the black phone next to the red Host-Phone and began dialing.

After four rings, Josh answered.

"This is Josh, talk to me."

"Yo, Josh. It's Chef Hatchet."

"Oh, yeah. The human bulldozer. What do you want?"

"Chris actually wants to talk to you."

"Sure, sure. Put him on."

Chef then pressed the button with the symbol of a megaphone and soundwaves emitting from it, then hung up.

"Josh, what's up my man?" Chris asked as he continued typing.

"Oh, not much, other than my last two guests rushing out on me with a third unconscious guest over their shoulder." Josh's voice complained over the computer's speakers. "What can I do for you?"

"Listen, you wouldn't happen to have a roster or list of some kind of all the people who were at the party, would you?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. Let me just go get it…"

They could hear a ruffling of the phone as a hand covered the speaker on the other end, and after about a minute, Josh's voice returned. All the while, Chris continued typing.

"Alright, you want me to read them off to you?"

"How many?"

"Um…33."

"Actually, could you just fax it to me?"

"Fax, Chris? Fax? I wasn't aware we were back in the 90's."

"Just please fax it to me, thank you."

Chris gestured over his shoulder, pointing at Chef, and then pointing at the fax machine in the corner. The large cohost lumbered over to it.

"And…done." Josh replied. "What's this all about, Chris?"

"Oh, I just thought I recognized one of your guests there. He looked like someone I went to high school with, but before I could formally approach him, he left."

"Oh, really?" Josh asked with genuine curiosity in his voice. "What did he look like? Maybe I can tell you right now who he is."

"No thanks, it's probably nothing. Just wanted to check for myself."

"Um, OK. Sure thing, Chris."

"Thanks. Talk to you later, bro."

Chris then waited until he could hear the clicking of the phone on the other end hanging up. A beeping signified that the signal was ended and no longer coming through the computer.

Chef returned with the piece of paper.

"Got the roster right here."

"Slip it into the analysis slot."

Chef did as he was told, and the paper was sucked right into the machine. A series of beeps and flutters could be heard, and several lights above the slot blinked on and off in rapid succession.

"OK…cross-referencing all 33 names with anyone who was involved with the show…"

He then hit "Enter," and only two names appeared, accompanied by basic information such as gender, age, height, weight, eye color, and a small profile picture of them.

"Sure enough; there's Josh at the top, as executive producer…"

"And there's Heather!" Chef pointed out, pointing at the name below him.

"So she _was_ on that show!" Chris exclaimed. "I had featured her on several of my biggest shows, but this one was such a mediocre, under-the-radar product that I forgot all about who competed on it. OK, so it was either Josh or Heather."

"Again I say, how do you propose to catch whichever one of 'em did it?"

Chris stood up and walked over to the glass case where Hostman's outfit was hanging up.

A grin appeared on his face.

"A good old-fashioned sting, Pythonicus. A good old-fashioned sting."

…

Several hours had passed, and it was now steadily raining outside. The two masked men were more than ready, hiding in the shadows and watching as the nearly-poisoned teen slept peacefully in his hospital bed.

Josh passing through earlier had proved fruitless. He tried to talk to Alejandro, including an apology for allowing him to have too much to drink, only for no response to make him leave.

Now they were waiting on Alejandro's girlfriend, Heather.

By now, it was late hours at the hospital. There wasn't even an occasional nurse or doctor passing by out in the dimly-light hallway. There were only the two front desk attendants and the night janitor, who had already passed by and was several floors above them.

Both men had gotten so tired that they barely noticed the silhouetted figure that was now suddenly standing outside the window to his room, staring in ominously.

"Python!" Hostman hissed, tapping his partner's shoulder.

Both men, obscured by the shadows and a changing curtain, stared out at the figure, now more alert than ever.

It then slowly moved over to the door and silently opened it.

A flash of lighting outside illuminated the figure for a brief moment. It was none other than Alejandro's exquisite girlfriend. She was no longer wearing the long, black, elegant dress from the dinner before. She was wearing a short pair of tan cargo shorts and a very short red top with a single strap going around behind her neck.

She slowly strutted up to Alejandro's bed and leaned over him.

"Oh…my poor baby." She uttered, choking out a sob.

Hostman and Pythonicus straightened up, still unseen but now confused.

"How could they do this to you? How could anyone possibly do this to you…?"

She then slowly straightened up, reaching into her back pocket.

Then the all-too-familiar sound of a brief, metallic _shink!_

"…Except me, of course."

Both men had to hold in their gasps as she withdrew a knife, the blade reflecting some of the pale light from outside.

"And by the way…you really shouldn't have left the ring in the middle compartment of your car, where I left my phone. We probably could've been happy together had you surprised me…but now I have the perfect opportunity."

She then raised the knife.

There was the sound of a whooshing motion across the room, and a flat, black, microphone-shaped blade flew across the room in the darkness. She barely had time to look up before it struck the knife out of her hand, sending it flying across the room while the blade that hit her eventually lodged in the wall.

"AH! What the?!"

The two masked men then appeared, standing in the middle of the room across the bed from her.

"Oh, NO! Not you two clowns! What are you doing here?! How could you possibly be involved in this kind of business?! You two don't know Alejandro!"

"No…" Hostman replied. "But when the biggest teenage celebrity in all of Canada is poisoned, it's obvious that someone's responsible. And someone who would probably be determined enough to come back and finish the job."

"Very clever." Heather growled.

"Why, Heather? You two have been together for three years." Pythonicus added.

"Duh. The money, of course? I was going to inherit his fortune, as well as his title as 'Canada's Biggest Teen Celebrity'! All my life, since we've been together, we've both been involved with numerous reality shows and other stints, but somehow, his boyish charm and smooth one-liners managed to outfame my devious tactics and high performances on other shows! He gained more fame, more talk show appearances, and way more money! I want all of that! I WILL have all of that!"

"What makes you think you'll inherit his fortune?"

"Duh." She replied sarcastically again. "You were eavesdropping, you should know. I knew he was gonna propose to me. I thought he'd do it when he came back from talking to Chris McLean in the hall, which was a huge red flag for me. I thought he'd come back, propose in front of everyone – since that's what the dinner was for in the first place – and then drink as a toast. By that point, I'd officially be his fiancée, and I'd inherit everything! But he chickened out, and now here he is. We're not engaged yet, but it's too late to go back now. It must end here!"

"Oh, it will." Hostman replied. "For you. For your fame, your fortune, and your law-abiding life. You'll lose everything when you go to jail for attempted murder."

"Just try!"

She then leapt across the bed and delivered a flying kick into Pythonicus's groin with her sharp high heels.

The squeal that resulted out of the large man nearly transcended similar vocals made by communicating dolphins. He slowly crumbled to his knees, clutching his crotch in pain. He slowly began to lean forward just as Heather, having landed perfectly right in front of him after recovering from the kick, thrust her knee straight up into his face, sending him tumbling over backwards and crashing to the floor with a moan before he lost consciousness.

Heather then turned to Hostman, who quickly shot his hands down to cover his own groin.

Heather readied her fists and leapt at him, throwing one punch at his head that he narrowly dodged, followed by another from the opposite side, which he also dodged. She then swung her elbow at him, and he ducked under it before thrusting himself forward and headbutting her, sending her stumbling backwards and tripping over Pythonicus's unconscious body.

Hostman leapt through the air towards her, only for her to recover and leap over the bed to the other side of the room.

Hostman skidded to a stop and turned to face her just as she stood up again, having bent down a moment ago…

…to pick up her dropped knife.

In an instant, she raised her arm high above her before she swung it down and threw the knife at Hostman.

With a yelp, he ducked as it soared over his head, puncturing a clean hole through his cape as it fluttered up above and behind him, and continuing on until it similarly punctured the green changing curtains further behind him, lodging firmly in the wall once again.

Hostman straightened up and moved cautiously around the bed as Heather backed up slowly, stopping against the wall on the other side…

…right next to the firmly-lodged microphone-shaped blade from earlier.

Hostman's eyes widened as she turned to it and quickly yanked it out of the wall, aiming more carefully this time than she did with the knife. Hostman, still as cautious as ever, slowly began sidestepping and moving closer to the door.

With a yell, Heather threw it. Hostman ducked as it soared over his head, whipping around the room, over Pythonicus's unconscious body, over the bed where Alejandro lay, and right back towards Heather, smashing against her forehead and knocking her right off her feet. She flew backwards into the window, smashing against it and cracking it greatly without completely breaking it, and then fell to the floor.

The blade continued flying in a circle until it was stopped by Hostman's hand.

After pocketing the blade, he began laughing like crazy.

"BWAHAHAHAHAHA! You didn't even know that it was a boomerang-type blade?! HAHAHAHA! No wonder you failed to kill him! You're stupider than I thought! Woohahahahaha-AUGH!"

His laugh, which distracted him greatly, was quickly cut off as Heather recovered and tackled him, grabbing him by the cowl and repeatedly punching him in the face. After several more tough blows, she wheeled around and threw him against the tray table next to Alejandro's bed, flipping over the tray and sending all of the items on it flying around the room: syringes, scalpels, magnifying glasses, everything.

Hostman sunk to the floor, exhausted and beaten.

Heather slowly walked up to him and grabbed him by the throat once more, delivering just one more punch that sprawled him out on the floor further from the bed.

Brushing herself off, she then casually knelt down and gently picked up a fallen syringe marked "Morphine."

Pressing down on the bottom of it, checking to make sure as a small bit of the sedative shot out, she turned and grinned at Hostman, slowly raising the syringe up over her head and holding it more like a knife or a club.

"Now, Hostman. It's time for you to take your medicine!"

"I…couldn't agree more."

The voice, all too familiar, from behind stunned Heather. Her eyes widened as she realized who the voice must have come from, but before she could even turn around, she felt a powerful force slam against the back of her head with a metallic CLANG.

With a final grunt, she fell forward, landing on the floor just next to Hostman. In the brief moment when her body was falling forward, her right hand – holding the needle – fell more in front of her rather than above her, and when she landed on the floor, she fell right onto the needle, the full weight of her body pressing down on the bottom of it and fully injecting herself with the morphine.

She was out cold in a matter of seconds.

Hostman shook his head and started to sit up, looking straight up at the one who had knocked Heather out for good.

It was none other than Alejandro, wearing only his patient's gown and holding the long metal bar to which his IV tube was attached. He stared at his unconscious girlfriend for a few seconds, then looked down into Hostman's eyes for a few seconds.

Then, with a final groan and a sigh, he dropped the metal bar and stumbled back onto the bed, collapsing onto the bed in exhaustion.

Hostman slowly stood up and brushed himself off. He reached into his belt and quickly withdrew his personal pair of handcuffs, securing Heather's hands behind her back as she lay face down on the floor.

He then slowly walked back around the bed towards Pythonicus, kneeling down to shake him.

"Hey, Pythonicus! Wake up! We've got to go NOW!"

With a few quick slaps to the face, the large man began to stir.

"Ooh…what happened?"

"I'll explain later. But all you need to know now is that Heather's been defeated and incapacitated, and Alejandro knows all about it. Our work here is done. We just need to get out of here, and fast."

As Hostman helped his friend up to his feet, he withdrew an unmarked cell phone from his belt, quickly dialing in the police hotline.

Once Hostman was done informing the police, as an anonymous tip, of what had happened, they moved towards the window.

Pythonicus opened it and slipped out first. As Hostman began to climb out, he looked back towards the unconscious pair, shaking his head now in shame one final time.

"Some break-ups are more painful than others, I guess."

He then closed the window behind them, and they vanished into the night.

**Author's Note: And there you have it, readers! One of my favorite couples, fictionalized and vilified in this Batman-esque look at it. And, sadly, this will be the only time we see Heather in this story. I might as well let you know now that some villains will be one-time villains, and only a select few will appear more than once. But rest assured: The impact of this episode will be felt in later episodes, and this incident between her and Alejandro will contribute to a major change in Alejandro's character in later episodes.**

**Next episode: The return of our favorite villains combined into one body.**


	8. Five-Fact Part II

Five-Face Part II

"To think that my former self actually loved that girl." The gruff, deep voice mused. "What to him was everything…one-fifth of his world…to me will merely be a five-second pawn. Five minutes, if she's lucky."

He carefully clapped the various weapons to his belt.

"And in the end, she shall be used as nothing more than a means to deliver true justice. True revenge. I shall pay back those two fools, and thank them for finally managing to bring me out."

He then pulled the mask, with the five different sections still burned into it from the previous encounter, over his faces.

"And by the stroke of five in the morning tomorrow, Hostman and Pythonicus will find out that revenge is a meal best served in five courses."

…

The redhead sat at the table, continuing to tap away at its surface in a slightly impatient manner. She sighed for the umpteenth time that night, staring at the single empty seat across from her.

"And what-a will you-a be-a having tonight?" The mustached waiter asked in an obviously Italian accent.

"Oh, geez." She sighed when she realized that it was already time to order. She glanced back at the empty seat before returning her attention to the waiter.

"Um…I guess I'll have the fettuccini alfredo."

"With-a meatballs?"

"Sure."

"An-a excellent-a choice."

The waiter jotted down the order, and Zoey realized that she had to get in her _guest's_ order too.

"Um…is it OK if I order for my…partner, so that it'll be here when he arrives?"

"Sure-a thing."

"I guess he'll have the Jumbo Spaghetti Dish, also with meatballs."

"Okie dokie! Fettuccini alfredo, with-a meatballs, and a Jumbo Spaghetti Dish, also with-a meatballs. Coming right up!"

The waiter was gone in an instant, and Zoey returned to resting one head in her hand and sighing miserably.

But just then, her phone finally lit up and began buzzing softly with the delightful ringtone that belonged to one person and one person only.

Perking up with excitement, she quickly reached into her purse and withdrew the phone, answering it in a rush.

"Mike? Oh, man! Where have you been? I was worried you were going to…going to stand me up!"

"Of course not! I couldn't possibly do that you, baby."

Zoey giggled slightly on her end of the line before resuming. "So where are you? You gonna be here soon? I just ordered the food…"

"Oh…I'm sorry to hear that. I mean, I actually had something else in mind…something very, very special. Especially romantic, and much more worth it."

Zoey swallowed as she briefly thought about all the different possibilities. One in particular stuck very much with her.

_Oh, no. It couldn't possibly be…_ She reached down and lightly patted the small red box in her purse, containing the most valuable item she had ever purchased. _He couldn't possibly have the same exact idea, could he?_

"Heh, heh…great minds think alike?" She blurted out, instantly regretting it.

"Maybe." Mike's voice responded. "Anyway…why don't you come out to the park? Again…I know this sounds really, really sudden…but it is important."

"Um, I guess. I mean, I can cancel the order and all…but the park? At this hour?"

"Have you forgotten what the park means to us?"

"No, of course not, sweetie. It's just…at this hour?"

"Babe, I won't let anyone do anything to you."

Zoey smiled at the last statement, and finally caved. "OK. I'll be there in half an hour. Same bench?"

"Same bench."

Zoey then hung up, tossing the phone back into her purse and zipping it up as she rose out of her seat.

…

On the other end, the figure pressed the "End Call" button on the phone he had been using, tossing it nonchalantly onto the motionless body of the phone's owner, half-protruding from the bushes.

The figure slowly walked towards the bench, laughing maniacally.

"The one and only way in which Mike actually served a useful purpose for me."

…

Roughly 33 minutes later, Zoey was walking cautiously through the park, the night sky above nearly black due to the lack of a moon. She heard an owl hoot somewhere in the distance and briefly shook.

She looked back down the path she had been traveling down, and saw the bench up ahead. Sitting very calmly on it was a dark, slender figure, wearing all-black.

"M-Mike?" She asked nervously.

The figure, wearing a tight black suit with a black mask that covered its face, remained motionless.

"Um…Mike? Please tell me that's you?"

She took another step forward, and the figure's head turned slowly and ominously towards her.

Letting out a yelp, she turned and ran.

She ran without looking back for a few seconds, and when she finally did look back, she suddenly felt herself slam into something. The impact stopped her and sent her tumbling to the ground.

She shook her head and looked up, only to see the same dark figure standing above her. At this close range, though, it was nearly unmistakable in size, height, and shape. It looked just like her boyfriend.

"AH! Who are you!? What's going on?!"

"That's a beautiful dress you're wearing." The figure commented in an unusually deep voice. It sounded nothing like her boyfriend, despite the similarity in shape. "I can definitely see what that loser saw in you."

She took brief note of the vertical lines running along the figure's mask, perfectly parallel to each other.

"S-stay away!" She ordered as she tried to back away.

In a single, swift effort, the figure grabbed her by the shoulders, raised her up, spun her around, and covered her face with a wet cloth. Zoey tried to let out a scream, but it was completely muffled.

After a few seconds, her vision went fuzzy, eventually turning to pitch blackness, and she was out cold.

…

"_But Johnny! I must confess at last…I don't love you!"_

"_What?! But Claire, I-"_

A burst of static cut off the climax of the soap opera's season finale.

"WHAT?! NO! DANGIT COMCAST!" Chef Hatchet roared in fury, dropping his bowl of popcorn out of one hand and box of tissues out of the other.

But then, the static vanished and was replaced by the image of a slender figure in a black jumpsuit, four vertical bars running across its black mask.

"Attention, everyone watching." The figure announced in a deep voice. "This message, or challenge, as I should say, that is important enough to interrupt your regularly-scheduled programming goes out to our resident superhero, Hostman."

Chef, realizing at last who was responsible, clinched his teeth and crushed the remote with one hand.

"I'LL KILL HIM!"

…

"Ugh! Not again!" Chris exclaimed as he facepalmed.

"_I have here behind me a beautiful young lady, who is currently being restrained against her will by five feet of rope."_

_The camera then moved over slightly and revealed the innocent redhead, still wearing her sparkling red dress, and tied around the midriff with a rope that bound her arms down and dangled her above a pool of suspicious light brown liquid._

"_AUGH! HELP! SOMEBODY! ANYBODY?!"_

_The camera moved back to the masked villain._

"_She is currently dangling over a pool of gasoline. In 55 minutes and 55 seconds, I shall drop her into the pool and ignite the gasoline with five lit matches, burning her so bad that it'll give her fifth-degree burns! Only Hostman can stop me…if you can get to me, that is. I'm sure you recognize me, Hostman. And only you will recognize, then, where we are…the place where it all started, roughly 25 hours ago…25, by the way, is the result of 5 squared."_

Chris was left with a blank look on his face just as the red phone rang. Chris swiftly picked it up.

"Yello?"

"HOSTMAN!" The voice roared from the other end, sending Chris flying out of his seat.

"AUGH!"

As soon as he climbed back into the chair, he quickly picked up the phone again. "Yes…Pythonicus…what is it?"

"I assume you know what this is all about, and why my soap is being interrupted now, during the SEASON FINALE!"

"Yes, I know what it's about…just get down here, quick."

Chris then hung up the phone and returned his attention to the screen.

"_If Hostman doesn't arrive at the place where it started, in 55 minutes or less, then all of Toronto will watch the horror unfold."_

"_PLEASE! LET ME GO! I DON'T KNOW WHO YOU ARE, BUT PLEASE! SOMEBODY?!"_

"_Shut up already, Mary Sue!" The figure shot back before turning back to the camera._

"_Hostman…we're waiting…all five of us."_

The image then turned back to static.

…

Roughly 20 minutes later, Hostman and Pythonicus were fully suited-up in the Host-Cave as the former typed away furiously on the computer. A frozen still from the earlier footage appeared on the screen, with red squares appearing around key details in the shot.

"See here…that's a wall covered in power tools, such as chainsaws and weed-whackers…and this container that's holding all the gasoline…"

Hostman zoomed in on a small logo on the side.

"It's an inflatable pool! It's quite obvious that he's surrounded by merchandise…"

"So what does it all mean?" Pythonicus asked, arms crossed.

"All the merchandise…back where it all started…he's in the downtown mall!" Hostman exclaimd as he stood up out of his chair.

"Which reminds me…What is all of this that you started?"

"Oh…" Hostman slowly sat back down and awkwardly spun his chair around to face Pythonicus, awkwardly scratching the back of his head.

"See…the thing about that…heh, heh…(gulp)."

He slowly stood up.

"I kinda…went out on a mission…on my own, yesterday?"

"You WHAT?!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! It was during your soap's marathon, it was just a simple mall robbery, I thought I could handle it!"

"And what did you do?"

Pythonicus grabbed Hostman by the shoulders.

"WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

"I…I caught the guy…and kinda accidentally knocked his face into a burning barbecue grill."

Pythonicus released Hostman's shoulders and stepped back, facepalming as he shook his head.

"Gosh DANGIT Hostman! You see why you can't keep doing this crap on your own?! You end up going off the deep end, and horribly scarring and/or horribly mutating the criminals, turning them into some kind of super-villain! NOW look! ANOTHER ONE out for revenge because you apparently burned half of his face off!"

"More like one-fifth, from the sound of his five obsession."

"Whatever! The point is, you screwed this up in the first place, and now we've BOTH gotta fix it. You're gonna pay for this if he don't get you first."

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Let's just get going!"

…

"Please, I don't know what this means to you, but just PLEASE! I beg you!"

"You don't know what this means to me? That's good…because I don't know what it means, either!"

"What? Then why are you doing this to me?!"

"You mean absolutely nothing." The figure declared as it casually strolled over to one of the aisles, briefly disappearing from view. A metallic clattering could be heard, and the figure eventually reappeared with a long, silver ladder under one arm. "Because you are absolutely nothing. You are just a means to an end, and nothing more."

"Then why me? How do you know me? Who are you?!"

The figure carefully placed the ladder next to the pool of gasoline and began ascending, eventually stopping at the very top and leaning in close to Zoey's terrified face.

"I am nothing more than the new form of your late boyfriend."

"WHAT?!" She roared, briefly putting aside her fear and sorrow as anger took over at the last two words. "What did you do to Mike?! If you really did kill him…I swear…"

"Oh, yes. I killed him, alright…but in a unique way."

"NOOOO! YOU MONSTER!"

She shook and thrashed wildly in the rope, swinging back and forth slightly as she tried to swing in the direction of the figure. It effortlessly grabbed onto the side of the ladder with one hand and swung down out of the way, gracefully swinging all the way around the ladder and perching on the very top with one foot before resuming a firmer stance to grab Zoey by one of her ponytails with one hand.

"You didn't let me finish, little girl. He's gone…but in a very different way."

Then, with his other hand, the figure removed the mask.

Zoey gasped in horror at what she saw.

It was indeed the face of her boyfriend, but like never before. It was divided into five clearly different sections by four vertical scorch marks. From the figure's right side to his left, the faces appeared as: A seemingly normal section, only with a long scar on the cheek; an obviously-powdered section, complete with lipstick on the sectioned portion of the lips, as well as eyeliner, mascara, and extended eyelashes on the right eye, as well as neatly-combed hair directly above this section; a much darker, much tanner section that almost seemed to shine in the pale moonlight, and the hair directly above this section gelled back with an excessive amount of hair gel; a perfectly normal section, only with some of his hair combed down the front to cover his left eye; and the fifth and final section covered in much paler, more wrinkled skin, with ruffled, disheveled hair above it.

"Oh my God." Zoey gasped in complete stupor.

"Yes. Gaze upon my faces. _Our_ faces."

"Wait…they all make sense. Vito, with the gelled hair and tan skin…Chester, with the wrinkled skin and disheveled hair…Svetlana with the makeup…those are all of your other personalities! Mike, what on earth happened to you?!"

"What did I just say?"

The figure capitalized on this question with a quick slap across the face, eliciting a cry from Zoey.

"It was Hostman who happened to me! He was so gracious as to slam my face into a barbecue grill turned on maximum heat! THAT'S what happened!"

"My GOD." She repeated with another gasp.

"Although I seek revenge against him, I'll be sure to thank him before he dies. After all, the trauma of that event was what finally brought me out."

"And who are _you_, exactly? Some other personality that Mike never told me about?"

"Even better."

The figure finally released her, sending her back into a brief swinging motion for a while as it slid gracefully down the ladder.

"I am essentially a culmination, a conglomerate, if you will, of everything that Mike suffered in his life. After all, it's not easy being a kid with Multiple Personality Disorder. Can you imagine all of the bullies, the insults, the taunts, the beatings, the jeering? Everything he went through? It all built up, though not on the outside. It gathered together one piece, one brick at a time, building up more and more into a dark and malevolent force deep within Mike's subconscious. All of the evil and pain he had endured, ready to be released back into the world as retribution…all he needed was a final trigger, a final fuse to make him snap, and unleash me. And along came Hostman." He then slipped the mask back over his face, lining up the lines on the mask with the burnt lines on his actual face.

"So what? You've completely replaced Mike? You couldn't have!"

"Never underestimate the power of hatred, my dear."

The figure then reached into his pocket and withdrew a box of matches.

Zoey's eyes widened.

"I have overridden Mike's will greater than any of the others combined ever could have. I am far more powerful because I lack emotion, lack sympathy, lack compassion, or any other earthly bonds. I am unstoppable, because unlike Mike, I have nothing to lose. And I will prove it to you…by eliminating you."

"You can't! Mike must be in there somewhere! MIKE! I know you can hear me!"

"You think Mike is still here?" The figure asked tauntingly. "Sure, you heard his voice on the phone…"

A clearing of the throat.

"Hi, Zoey! I'm sorry to cancel your dinner plans, but for a special reason that I can't explain at the moment, I wanted you to come to the park bench where we had our sappy first kiss. Please? I love you, baby."

All in Mike's normal, cheerful, higher-pitched voice. He then quickly returned to the evil laughter.

"You monster!"

"I know you are, but what am I?" He replied in the darker voice. He then laughed sinisterly as he looked at his watch.

"Oh, dear. Looks like you've already got only five minutes and… … …five seconds. Mwuhahahahahaha, ha."

"Your time is up, villain!"

The figure then spun around to face not one, but two masked figures crouched on the nearest aisle shelf across from the pool where Zoey was dangling.

"What? Hostman finally brought along his lackey? How fortuitous."

"I'm usually always supposed to be alongside him, so get used to it!" Pythonicus declared loudly.

"Very well. More fun for us. Come on down and face me, fools!"

"And who exactly are you?" Hostman asked challengingly, refusing to be intimidated.

"Oh come now, Hostman. You know exactly who I am."

"Well, I do know that you're the poor sap I, uh, _accidentally_ gave a new face-lift to."

"Yes, you at least own up to that mistake. I guess I might as well make my entrance now…No more hiding behind masks…"

The figure then whipped off the black mask, revealing the horribly-burned and evenly-divided face.

"I am Five-Face. _We are_ Five-Face. Come at me…come at us."

Pythonicus, shaking off the horror and eager to get back into the action, was the first to leap down, aiming his foot directly at the figure's head.

The figure effortlessly ducked under the foot, spun around, and grabbed Pythonicus by the shoulders, spun around, and flung him into a collection of lawnmowers nearby.

Hostman leapt down next, landing in front of Five-Face and withdrawing a microphone from his belt and pressing down on the button, emitting the blast of gas.

Five-Face dodged out of the way of the blast and leapt up over Hostman, landing behind him. He grabbed the hero's cape and pulled it down over the hero's face, obstructing his vision while quickly reaching into his belt for one of the microphone-shaped boomerang-type blades.

Five-Face spun around and aimed the blade carefully at the rope that was holding up Zoey, while he used his other hand to pull five matches out of the matchbox. Holding each match between individual pairs of fingers, he struck them against his leg and lit them all.

He quickly tossed all five matches into the pool of gasoline, igniting it and instantly turning it into a pool of fire.

Zoey gasped and screamed in terror.

"Good night, Zoey. I hope you enjoyed the last time you ever saw Mike, because you're not going to see him again where you're going!"

He then threw the blade, which spun around as it cut through the air straight towards the rope that was holding Zoey.

"NOOOOOO!"

Pythonicus, being the first to recover from Five-Face's blows, shook his head off and saw the terrified girl dangling above the pool of fire. He reached into his belt for his own grapple gun, aiming carefully at the girl.

At the same moment Pythonicus fired, the blade sliced seamlessly right through the rope, and Zoey began to fall.

Pythonicus's hook shot forward, latched onto Zoey's right arm, and propelled her backwards through the air, landing safely on the floor just behind the pool.

"What? NO!" Five-Face roared as he spun around to face Pythonicus.

Zoey landed on the floor and skidded back a few feet, feeling the claws of the grappling hook slice through the first few portions of the rope. Realizing her chance, she began squirming and fighting back with all her strength, fueled now by her determination to fight against the evil force that had taken Mike from her.

Five-Face spun back around to face Pythonicus.

"You miserable brute. DIE!"

Five-Face then charged over and leapt on top of Pythonicus, savagely landing blow after blow with the strength of an Italian New Jersey resident.

Hostman, having finally untangled his cape and thrown it back behind him, whirled around with his own grapple gun and fired it as Five-Face raised another fist into the air. The hook caught his fist and halted it before he could bring it down.

Five-Face turned to face Hostman, and in a matter of seconds, realized his situation and formulated a solution.

Taking hold of the cable that extended from his wrist to the grapple gun, he raised it high into the air and cracked it down like a whip. The shockwave traveled up the cable and right up to Hostman, shaking the gun out of his hand with a yelp.

"Mwuhahahahaha! Go to town, Manitoba."

"With pleasure, mate!" A new voice called out from the same face for a brief moment.

Five-Face cracked the makeshift whip, striking at the floor near Hostman's feet and causing him to leap away in fear.

Five-Face then turned to Pythonicus and took aim, cracking the whip down against the massive sidekick's forehead. He let out a brief yelp of pain before Five-Face brought the whip down again, cracking it against the same spot. Pythonicus passed out cold.

Five-Face grinned and laughed maniacally once again.

"Hey, freak!" A familiar voice suddenly called out.

"Huh?"

He turned just as the can of pepper spray was aimed directly at his face and fired.

Five-Face let out a yell and stumbled backwards, covering his eyes. He continued moaning in pain as Zoey slowly lowered the can.

"AAAAAAH…Ooooooh…Oooohahahahaha."

"What?!" She exclaimed.

Five-Face then lifted his head, revealing the long, orange streak on the left side of his face, mostly on the portion of hair that was covering his left eye completely.

"Seems my personal favorite hairdo has come through for me." He mused.

Zoey, startled for a moment, quickly raised the can again, only for a swift crack of Five-Face's whip to send it flying out of her hands, flying backwards into the pool of fire.

Five-Face was then upon her in an instant, and another harsh blow sent her tumbling to the floor. Her purse fell from her hands and clattered to the floor, the various contents spilling out and scattering.

"Foolish girl. You can't stop me. No one can stop us!"

He then raised the whip again, with a helpless Zoey cringing in fear and anxiety.

But just then, Hostman appeared behind him and took hold of the cable, grabbing it with two hands and bringing it down in front of Five-Face, attempting to restrain him. Five-Face grunted as he resisted briefly, taking hold of the cable himself with both hands, and then headbutting in reverse so that the back of his head slammed against Hostman's head.

The sharp impact stunned Hostman briefly, and his grip on the cables loosened.

Five-Face spun around, thrust the cables around Hostman's torso, and then almost effortlessly picked him up with both hands, raised him up above his head, and threw him across the room so that he eventually hit the floor and slid to a stop right next to the unconscious Pythonicus.

"Ah…so this is it, isn't it?" Five-Face declared in a matter-of-fact tone of voice as he approached the fallen heroes.

"This is where it ends for you two, the great Hostman and Pythonicus. But before I end you two, I suppose I should thank you first, Hostman. After all, it was you who brought me out."

"Say what?" Hostman asked in a daze as he shook his head.

"Thanks to you initiating contact between my face and that grill, the trauma, the pain, the magnitude of that moment was the final spark I needed to break free and take over Mike's body, as well as his multiple villainous and especially talented personalities. The one and only personality who could've stopped me is gone now…and it's all thanks to you. Thank you, Hostman. Now time to die."

He then began emitting one final, sinister, maniacal, and evil laugh as he so casually reached into his belt and withdrew a simple knife. Its blade glimmered in the pale light. He slowly began raising it up over his head, over his faces…

And just then, a single yell could be heard right before a loud, metallic clang as something swung down against the back of Five-Face's head. His eyes widened, his body froze, and the knife slipped from his hands, clattering harmlessly to the floor.

His eyes then rolled into the back of his head, and he fell forward unconscious with a final groan.

Hostman slowly looked up at the figure that had been standing behind where Five-Face was moments earlier.

It was Zoey, holding a medallion on a lanyard. It was a bright, shining, gold medallion with the previously unharmed, smiling face of her late boyfriend engraved on it.

She glared down in fury at the unconscious form that had once belonged to her boyfriend, then slowly raised the medallion to her eyes.

She finally noticed the single long crack running down the middle of the face of the medallion, obviously a result of its impact against Five-Face's head.

Then, in a single, almost silent moment, the medallion split right down the middle. The broken-off half slid right out of the palm of her hand, tumbling through the air in almost slow-motion, before clattering to the floor once, then twice, and then rattling to a stop like a dropped coin.

She stared down at the remaining half, with the lanyard still attached through the small hole in the top, and debated on what to do with it. Half of her wanted to clench it as tightly as possible, as if trying to crush it herself, and the other half…

…she slowly tilted her hand and let the remaining half fall out of her hand as well, clattering to the floor next to its partner.

Then, feeling her knees grow weak, Zoey broke down and finally let the tears fall.

**Author's Note: Yeah…a bitter ending, isn't it? I know I promised that it wouldn't get too dark…but I guess it was inevitable, wasn't it? And to be honest, the way this chapter ends ultimately reflects my feelings on writing this one. Don't get me wrong, I still love utilizing the villain Five-Face. But believe me, coming up with such a tragic end to one of my favorite couples in the entire series, and then putting it down in writing…not easy.**

**But nonetheless, I hope you all enjoyed!**

**Next episode: An enemy who has a special connection to wildlife.**


	9. The Mole King

The Mole King

"Come on, momma! I wanna see the panda bear!"

"Alright, alright, just slow down, will ya'? It's impolite to run ahead of your momma like that."

The child finally reached the cage where the panda bears were casually sitting on the ground or among the large tree branches.

"Dawwww!" He exclaimed. "They're all just so cute! I love animals, don't you momma?"

"Hmph. Cute enough, but nothing to get into a big ole' hoopla over!"

But just then, a shrill scream went off behind them, scaring the child so much that he leapt up into the air and clung to the metal bars nearly 20 feet off the ground.

"What was that?! What was that?!"

By now, nearly a dozen people were screaming in terror and running away as several massive, appalling creatures ran through the zoo, gnashing their teeth and roaring loudly. They appeared to be giant crosses between moles and gophers, with sick pale pink skin and massive teeth, but with their eyes firmly squinted shut. Nevertheless, they charged forward and lunged at innocent civilians with surprising accuracy.

"AAAAAAH! WHAT ARE THOSE?! WHAT ARE THOSE?!"

But the mother was already gone, racing away from the monsters with the rest of the crowd.

"Momma? MOMMA? AAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!"

One of the monsters then charged straight forward and slammed head-first into the bars of the panda cage, dislodging them and causing them to fall over forward, with the youth still clinging to it tightly.

He screamed once more until it finally hit the ground, pinning him under it as the panda bears raced out of the new opening in panic.

"Why?! WHY?!"

Then the last of the pandas had finally escaped, allowing him to lift the bars up off himself and stand up. With one good, long look, he realized the full extent of the devastation.

Every cage in sight had been broken open. Every kind of animal in the zoo had been released. Several structures were already partially trampled or even on fire.

"WHY?!" He screamed to the sky, moments before one of the monsters charged at him and headbutted him, sending him flying several yards and skidding across the ground, unconscious before he screeched to a halt.

…

"…and as of now, at least 8 people are missing, 5 of them being innocent civilians, 3 being zoo staffers. The extent of the damage has not yet been fully realized, though all known fires have since been put out. Nearly 80% of the animals still have not been recovered, and worst of all…no sign of any of the reported creatures that caused this madness in the first place." Josh concluded.

"And, big surprise, the DA's office had no comment." Blaineley added.

Hostman muted the TV, returning his attention to the voice on the other end of the red phone.

"So what do you think, man?" Pythonicus's voice asked.

"I have no idea. A radical environmentalist gone off the deep end, perhaps? PETA?"

"Normally I'd say yes…" Pythonicus started. "But how could either of those account for the monsters that allegedly caused this?"

"We don't have any video or any other kind of proof of that, except eyewitness testimony." Hostman responded. "But if it's true, then yeah; I can't imagine PETA or any such group being behind the mutation of any kind of animal just to pull off this job."

"So what do we have, then? Anything to go on?"

"I guess all we can do is go down there and see what evidence we can pick up for ourselves."

"But the cops have surely gone down there for their own investigation by now! What can we possibly find?"

"You know cops in this town." Hostman shot back as he stood up. "On a scale of 1 to 10, how competent are they really? Especially under the current DA?"

"Hm. Good point. I'll meet you at the zoo."

…

Hostman carefully dropped down from the leaves and hid behind the tree trunk, glancing at the police lines set up blocking off the entrance to the zoo. He glanced over at Pythonicus, hiding behind another nearby tree trunk. He gestured in the direction of the zoo wall with his head, and Pythonicus returned with a nod.

They both quickly snuck out from behind the trees and pressed up against the wall, staying completely silent as a single guard with a flashlight slowly walked by.

They both then quickly scaled the wall, climbing up, leaping over the top, and softly landing back on the ground within the zoo. They quickly dashed off towards the central area where most of the attacks occurred, using the foliage and the shadows as cover.

Soon, they had arrived at the scene of the initial outbreak. Food carts, fences, small restrooms, everything in the area had been destroyed in at least some way.

They slowly walked through the wreckage, observing the signs of destruction with a grim outlook.

Hostman was looking at a smashed donut cart as he walked along when he suddenly tripped.

"Whoa! Oof!"

"Huh?" Pythonicus turned around to see his fallen partner. "Hostman, keep it down, would ya? We're trying to not get caught here!"

"I know, I know, sorry. I just tripped on a pothole…"

Hostman turned around as Pythonicus helped him up, and he looked down at the "pothole" that had tripped him up.

"What in the…?!"

They both leaned in close as they inspected what appeared to be a massive footprint in the concrete.

"That's…definitely not natural." Hostman remarked.

"Like Lady Gaga." Pythonicus joked.

Hostman leaned in close as he thought he saw a small, bright glow emitting from one of the toes.

"Python, look at this."

They both leaned in close to a small blob of orange goo that was glowing from one of the toes.

"How could the police possibly miss this?"

Hostman reached into his belt. "I don't know…" He withdrew a small vial. "…but whatever it is, it's good evidence that we need. Come on, let's get back to the Host-Cave!"

…

Hostman finished typing and stepped back from the computer. The vial containing the orange liquid had already been inserted into the mainframe's analysis slot, and the complex machinery was fast at work deconstructing the liquid.

"So what do you think?" Chef asked as he removed the mask.

"Well, if I had to make a wild guess, I'd say this liquid is radioactive in nature. Look at that Geiger counter!"

One small readout on the dashboard showed a needle that was waving wildly towards the high end of the scale, with a beeping going off wildly as it did.

"Radioactive…You don't think this has anything to do with…" 

"It might, Chef…It just might."

Just then, a beeping went off on the main monitor, which lit up to reveal an aerial, computerized view of Toronto. A series of red dots were moving rapidly down one street, towards one location with a green circle around it. The police radio crackled to life once more.

"Roger that, en route to the bank now. Suspect considered armed and extremely dangerous."

Chris turned to Chef.

"You want to take this one?"

"Nah. For once, I think I actually wanna stay and keep an eye on the sample. You take this one, man."

"Really?" Chris replied, in shock. "Um, OK."

And with that, Hostman put his mask back on.

…

Hostman continued swinging freely between the tall buildings with his Grapple Gun, eventually surpassing the line of police cars and finally racing across roofs until he finally arrived at the bank.

The entire front wall of the bank had been completely smashed open, and a group of officers was already setting up the barricade.

"Back up! BACK UP!"

"Move that barrier over here NOW!"

"Good God…what ARE those things!?"

Hostman crouched at the edge of the rooftop and watched. All of a sudden, there was a great rumbling from inside the bank, and many of the officers who could see inside instantly began bolting rather than fighting.

"RUN!"

"HERE THEY COME!"

"GOD HELP ME!"

And then, before Hostman's very eyes, a massive flock of huge, pale pink monsters began charging out. They resembled giant gophers, only their eyes were all sealed. They charged forward out into the street, knocking over police cars and sending the officers scattering. They left massive, familiar footprints in the concrete and bellowed terrifying, screeching roars.

And riding on top of the largest one, fastened into a saddle, was a dark figure wearing a long, dark cloak, cape fluttering on both sides and trailing behind him, and a hood covering its face.

"Very good, my friends. Charge forward! For victory, for glory!" It bellowed out in a strange, scratchy voice.

"Huh?" Hostman gasped.

The monsters then formed into a powerful semi-circle and charged forward down the street, creating a ring of protection for their leader as they plowed the way through for it.

Thinking fast, Hostman withdrew a very small handheld gun, about the size of a cell phone. Taking quick aim, he fired a single shot, emitting a very quick, fairly quiet sound as it did so.

The tracking device flew through the air and latched right on target, securing itself to one of the straps of the mysterious figure's saddle.

…

"So let me get this straight." Pythonicus started. "You made it there before the police reinforcements, you watched it all go down…and all you did was attach a tracking device to 'em?!"

"Hey, it's better than trying to go in there and face that army of mutants myself, right?" Hostman responded angrily. "Besides, you've always been criticizing me for going in on my own and wrecking things by creating a _new_ supervillain, aren't you? At least I did something…"

Hostman finished typing away, and a radar aerial view of Toronto came onto the monitor. "And now, just like the tracking device in my Trojan Chris dummy, we'll find the location of this new perp in no time flat."

"It's moving away from the city." Python commented.

"Yes…moving northwest…"

After nearly 20 minutes of watching the small red dot move northwest on the screen, both men gasped when they saw where it stopped.

"You…you can't mean…!"

"Oh, it is…It is…"

…

The gophers milled around in the cave, some lying down to relax after another heist, and some gathering around their leader, who leaned back into its throne with the bags of money surrounding it.

"Very good, my minions…very good. This money will be more than substantial to supply our future endeavors. You've all done well, and daddy's proud of each and every single one of you."

Some of them howled approvingly, and the figure reached over to pet one on the head.

"Time to send your pets back to the pound!"

The figure turned sharply at the sound of the all-too familiar voice emanating from the entrance to the cave. Underneath the dark hood, it grinned at the sight of the two familiar caped figures. All of the massive gophers in the cave turned towards the two and growled viciously, each assuming a ready-to-pounce stance. However, the figure made a sharp, quick hissing sound and held two fingers up, signaling them to stand down.

"Ah, it's so good to see you again, Hostman." It croaked. "I can only imagine how you managed to trace me and my friends back to this abandoned, toxic island."

"That's a secret that we can't afford to reveal. But how about the mystery of who's under that hood? Who are you?" He asked as he stepped forward, one of his microphones at the ready. Pythonicus similarly assumed a fighting stance with a boomerang blade in one hand as well.

"Yeah!" Pythonicus added. "You said it was good to see us _again_."

"I suppose I've kept my identity secret long enough. Time to remind you of one of your greatest creations."

The figure slowly stood up out of its throne and grabbed the sides of its hood. It paused for a long moment as the two heroes stared at it, anticipating the reveal.

Then the hood was whipped off, revealing the green face, the bald, spotted head, and the red eyes.

"You!" Pythonicus shouted.

"Feral Freakshow!" Hostman declared.

"Yes." Freakshow responded in his growling voice. "It is me. Here to announce that I have discovered yet another unforeseen advantage of my transformation: It has allowed me to establish a very special connection to my fellow mutants. Specifically, these poor gophers that have been enlarged and blinded by the toxic waste on this island. They have taken me in and elevated me to the position of their leader."

As he said this, Freakshow continued petting one of the gophers on the head. Even as it maintained the ready position, facing the two intruders, it couldn't help but purr approvingly as he pet it.

"So you were in charge of the raid on the zoo!" Hostman replied.

"And the bank robbery! But why?"

"In order…First, I unleashed them on the Toronto Zoo so that they may deliver justice. You see, since I have become an animal like them, I have begun to think like them, to fear like them…and to pity like them. Their comrades were locked up in cages and put on display like antiques. That was simply an injustice that could not be excused."

"Oh, so you're an environmentalist now." Pythonicus shot back. "You tree-hugging tofu-eating hippie-types make me sick."

"I'll admit, it may seem a bit sudden…but my second heist's endeavors may strike a more familiar chord. I needed that money for a series of future jobs I plan to pull off…and by future, I mean the very, very near future."

"And what might _those _be?"

"Oh, those are secrets I can't afford to reveal. Not that you'll live to see them anyway."

The two heroes stiffened, taking aim with their weapons.

Freakshow raised his hand into the air, and quickly snapped two fingers.

In an instant, all of the massive gophers charged forward at the two heroes, mouths open, sharp teeth exposed, and ropes of saliva dangling from them.

However, just as the monsters were nearly upon the two men, Hostman held the microphone close to his mouth. He turned to Python, nodded, and his sidekick returned the nod. He turned back to face the monsters and yelled into the microphone. The sound was instantly amplified, sending the shrill shriek tearing through the entire cave, echoing off the walls and reverberating through the ears of every other creature in the room. Every single one of the gophers halted dead in their tracks, some even screeching to such a halt that they flipped head over claw, some landing upside-down. They all began screeching in pain and terror, unable to cover their ears.

Freakshow similarly began to cower and scream in pain, dropping to his knees and quickly covering both his ears, growling and shaking his head.

"What is that?!" He roared. "What are you doing?!"

Hostman finally finished his scream, slowly lowering the microphone.

"One of my favorite weapons. It's a voice-amplifying…"

But before he could even finish, all of the gophers righted themselves and began dashing like mad out of the cave, escaping through every hole possible, desperate to flee the area.

Even after the screaming ceased, however, the cave continued shaking. The high-pitched noise from earlier was now replaced by a low rumbling.

Hostman, eyes wide with shock before he shook it off, lowered the microphone to place it back in his belt.

"Well, Freakshow…guess it's just you and me."

"Hey!" Pythonicus shouted.

Freakshow shook his head and slowly lowered his hands, regaining a firm fighting stance in front of his throne.

"Very well. Bring it on."

Hostman quickly whipped out one of the microphone-shaped blades and tossed it at Freakshow. However, Freakshow easily ducked and charged forward as the blade continued overhead, lodging itself in the back of his throne.

He charged forward through the air with a roar. He tackled Hostman and sent them both tumbling across the ground, head-over-heels. Hostman managed to hold him off as he lunged forward and gnashed his teeth several times. Pythonicus swooped in and delivered a crushing blow to Freakshow's chin, sending him flying up and backward, slamming into a stalactite against the ceiling. Both the stalactite and Freakshow fell back down to the cave floor. The stalactite crashed down with an incredible impact, sending another ripple through the cave's stability.

Freakshow stood up even as the cave began to actually shake, with several pieces of the ceiling and the walls breaking off and falling. A single large crack suddenly formed in the wall behind his throne, traveling quickly up the wall.

Freakshow, nevertheless, was unfazed. He charged forward and kept low to the floor as Pythonicus readied another punch. Freakshow flew under the fist and slammed into the mountainous sidekick's chest, knocking him backwards just as Hostman got back to his feet. The massive man flew right past Hostman, slamming into the wall and creating another powerful rumbling that shook the walls and sent more pieces of rock falling around them.

Hostman turned to Freakshow, now crouching and glaring at Hostman. He growled again and prepared to pounce.

Hostman quickly pulled out his grappling gun and fired at another stalactite. Once it latched on, he swung forward and slammed into Freakshow, knocking him over. However, before Hostman's feet could even touch the ground, he felt the hook give way. He looked up and saw that the stalactite it was attached to had broken off, slamming to the ground just behind the knocked-over Freakshow. Another powerful tremor shook the cave, and entire portions of the ceiling were now collapsing.

Hostman turned to Pythonicus, who was now on his hands and knees as he recovered from the last blow.

"Come on, Python! This place is gonna go! We have to get out of here!"

Hostman ran over to his sidekick, helping him to his knees, and then to his feet, as more stalactites came crashing down around them. The cave shook, another crashing sound – this time sounding almost like a muffled explosion – rattled the entire area. One particularly large, flat piece of the ceiling fell and crushed the throne.

Both heroes turned and ran towards the tunnel they had just entered through, with only Hostman stopping briefly to turn and look back at where he had left Freakshow sprawled out on the ground.

He couldn't see any sign of the freak. Hostman glanced around wildly, from one area to the next, and all as various pieces of the ceiling and walls continued to fall.

"Come on!" Pythonicus shouted.

Both men managed to make it out of the cave and into the sunlight just as the tunnel collapsed, sending a great big cloud of dust and debris flying out of the entrance and billowing up into the air, with the ground below them rumbling one final time, eventually slowing and going still once again.

"Phew!" Hostman sighed. "Am I glad to be out of there. It smelled SO bad!"

"Yeah, but we've gotta leave this island, and fast." Pythonicus added. "Those gophers are still on the loose."

"Yeah…man, we should seriously consider asking the police to quarantine this island."

"Uh, Hostman…" Pythonicus started as they walked off towards the clearing where their helicopter was waiting. "It _is_ quarantined."

"Seriously?" He exclaimed. "And _this_ is the kind of security that goes with it? So typical of the government."

"Man, when has the government _ever_ done something right?" Pythonicus replied with a chuckle.

"Can't argue with that, my man…can't argue with that."

**Author's Note: Hope you all enjoyed the first return of a former villain. Bet that last clue really threw most of you off, didn't it?**

**Next time: Hostman's failure to act results in one of his good friends being horribly transformed forever.**


End file.
